A Couple of Master Assassins
by LostInFandoms
Summary: S.H.I.E.L.D's top agent, Clint Barton was sent to take down one the most infamous spies there is. Not everything went according to plan. Rated T for strong language and violence.
1. Day 1, Budapest

**A/N: This is going to be about how Natasha and Clint met and became the Natasha and Clint they are in the movies. Sometimes it'll be part of a plot, sometimes it will just be pointless fluff about how they gradually get to know each other as well as they do. Please leave a review!**

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Fury sat down in his chair. He'd be getting the first report on Agent Barton's mission soon. Barton was to take down one of the most deadly threats in the business right now – the Black Widow. Assuming Barton managed not do die trying, he'd then have to take down a drug cartel. His plane landed in Budapest in precisely ten minutes, when he'd check in with Fury. They'd send a helicopter to pick him up in one month, at coordinates that would remain secret until he was ready to leave.

Ten minutes passed, and Fury began the communication. Their conversation would be recorded, and Barton would be using his earpiece to converse with him. This was the only way they'd be able to talk for the next month. Fury made the call.

"This is Director Fury. It's 18:02, the 1st of February. This recording marks the start of Mission Black Death. Hawkeye, do you read me?"

"I sure do, sir. Landed safely, setting off to the given coordinates now. Any last tips?" Replied Clint Barton's voice.

"Try not to let her kill you."

"Thanks, sir. I appreciate it."

"Remember, the target is currently using the alias Natalia Romanova. She's currently undercover as a waitress at a restaurant. Details of the whereabouts have already been enclosed. Take her out from a distance. Good luck."

Static filled the silence as the line went dead. Fury leant back, waiting to hear if his best agent had survived.

"It's 11:48, 1st of February. This is Hawkeye, reporting for duty. Sir, do you copy?"

"Hawkeye, has the target been taken out?" Fury asked.

"Not exactly, sir." Barton told him guiltily.

"Oh, he is going to kill you." Fury heard a female's voice, cold and toneless.

"That's probably right." Barton agreed.

"Hawkeye, what's going on?" Fury asked, though he thought he knew the answer already.

"Well, I got eyes on the target, sir." Barton began.

"Yeah, and you weren't very subtle about it." The female remarked snidely.

"Would you shut up for a minute? Anyway, I turned away for a second and she was gone. Next thing I know, she's right behind me. Taking her out from a distance wasn't an option anymore. Being the more superior in combat, however, I managed to trap her-"

There was a laughing noise in the background. "Superior? Please, that was pure luck."

"I had you well and truly cornered."

"I could have gotten out of that if I wanted to." snapped the woman.

"You chose to have a gun to your head?"

"Hawkeye!" Fury shouted.

"So I trapped her. I was about to complete the mission when I thought – why are we killing this woman when she's one of the best spies the world has ever seen?"

"Oh, stop it." She interjected sarcastically.

"We could recruit her; have the Black Widow on our side! I gave her the offer, she accepted. She's gonna help with the drug cartel –"

"Are you telling me that you've made an alliance with a known enemy and given her confidential details of a covert operation in one day?" Fury demanded.

"Hey, she's okay." Barton admitted.

"She can't be trusted and you know it!" Fury added.

"I can hear you, you know." She said.

"She's a spy; it's her job to deceive people. Don't tell me you've fallen for her tricks." Fury sighed. This was the Black Widow. He'd thought if Barton failed, it would be due to her killing him, not tricking him.

"Look, she's a bit of a sarcastic bitch, but she'll be an asset to S.H.I.E.L.D!" Barton argued.

"Again, right here."

"We're going to find a safe place for the night, and then tomorrow we're getting to work on the drug lord." Barton informed him.

"I have some information on them; we were going to take them out until something more important came along." She told him.

"And you're going to help us, just like that?" Fury asked doubtfully.

"That's right." She said.

"Barton, you can't be this stupid." He said once more.

"Goodnight, sir, I'll check in tomorrow." Barton said.

"Assuming your throat hasn't been slit." Fury interjected darkly.

"Nice to meet you too." Said the Black Widow cheerfully.

"Over." Barton said before the line went dead.

The static began again, and Fury began to look for the paperwork he'd have to fill in when Clint was dead. Just so he was ready.


	2. Day 2, Budapest

Clint watched her clean out a cut on her shin. Desperately, he tried to formulate some kind of an excuse for trying to recruit the _motherfucking Black Widow_, their most deadly enemy. What the hell had he been thinking?. He even tried to come up with some cliché story as a cover up. It went something along the lines of "_I had her cornered, but when I looked in her eyes I could see a little bit of good left in there_." Then he'd imagined telling Fury, and he immediately scrapped the idea. He was a professional spy, but the idea of feeding Fury such bullshit literally made him scoff.

It was an impulse. He saw her fight; saw how perfectly she executed her moves. He didn't often get the chance to appreciate such skill, because, well, he was Clint Barton. Not to be immodest, but he was frigging awesome. But she was better. And killing someone who could do that would be a crime against the art of espionage. So he'd offered her a spot at S.H.I.E.L.D, something that definitely wasn't within his power to do. He kept thinking; as long as she helped out with the mission and didn't murder him in his sleep, Fury could find her a place. He just had to survive the month. Easy, right?

"Can I help you?" she snapped.

_Damn it. Remember, Clint, staring is rude. _He struggled to come up with an answer. "I'm just very aware that you've still got your gun. And knife. And you're the Black fucking Widow."

"Relax, if I murder you I won't get my new job." She said calmly.

"That's reassuring." He scoffed.

The morning light had begun to seep through the windows of the cheap hotel, which gave him a little sense of accomplishment. Who else could say they survived a night with the Black Widow? He may have been hiding in a corner on red alert the whole night, but still, that was pretty damn exceptional.

Watching her reflection in the mirror, he made his way to the bathroom. He started to go about his usual routine, brushing his teeth, shaving and all that. He couldn't bring himself to shower. If she attacked him then, he'd be naked. Very vulnerable parts would be right there, just waiting to be kicked, or punched, or – _Jesus, stop, _Clint thought, as he physically winced.

"So, I guess we're looking for the target today?" She asked, appearing suddenly at the doorway, leaning against the frame.

Clint spat a mouthful of toothpaste out at the mirror. "Holy mother of-" he began to curse, before catching himself. He was a spy. A good spy. An excellent spy, for that matter. Why should this woman turn him into a jumpy little girl? He silently swore to pull himself together.

"Attractive." She smirked, looking at the toothpaste splattered in his hair and on his face.

"Yes, we're looking for the target. You don't have to do anything, I'll handle the mission. Just make it through the month without killing any innocent people." He told her, wiping his face clean.

"Why do you people just assume…? Whatever. If you think I'm just tagging along this whole time, you've got another thing coming." She argued.

"There isn't anything to do, we're just going to find out who he is. Right now we just have a name, we need to match it to a face." Clint said.

"How?"

"We know he's a he. We know he's meeting a client at 1pm at Café Ruszwurm today. So we get a table and keep an eye on everyone there until we find him."

"What, we just _wait_?" She asked incredulously. "Wouldn't it make more sense to intercept the client, use force to get as much information out of them as we can and then go to the meeting using the client's identity?"

Number one problem with recruiting the world's best assassin? She's the world's best _assassin._ She was never going to be allowed into S.H.I.E.L.D if her solution to every problem was to kill it. "No." He told her slowly, and a little patronisingly. He saw her flare up, he was treading on thin ice here. "Because then when he discovers we're not the client he'll start hiding information, changing his safe houses and being more careful."

"Why would he find out we're not the client?"

"Because we can't possibly gather enough information about the client in one day to play them convincingly." He tried to reason. "Not when we're trying to fool a professional.

"Huh, watch me." She laughed.

So she was proud. A proud, manipulative bitch who could kick ass. He could use that. Proud people don't like other proud people because they tend to show them up. So maybe if he could prove her wrong, she'd get the stick out of her ass and start co-operating, because he really needed to bring a fully reformed Black Widow back to Fury or he was going to be on crappy assignments for the rest of his professional life. "We're sticking with the plan. You can either cover up that cut on your leg, put on normal clothes and come with me, or you can wait here all day. Your choice." He told her, and watched her scowl as he pushed past her out of the bathroom.


	3. Day 3, Budapest

She watched him carefully as he ordered pizza over the phone. They'd found a new hotel to stay in for the night. It was worse than the one yesterday. The carpets were stained with all sorts, alcohol, blood, et cetera. The sheets on the bed didn't look like they'd been cleaned for a good few years, and the chairs that she and Barton sat in were leaking so much stuffing she was surprised they were still standing. Ironically, she should feel right at home. She thrived in places like this, they were excellent for killing, torturing, and getting information out of people. The owners didn't ever ask, so she'd never have to tell. But it wasn't the type of place she'd choose when she wasn't on a mission. And having someone else there made her feel like she wasn't on a mission, because she worked alone.

She was a little pissed – people didn't often get the chance to say 'I told you so,' to her. When neither the client nor the target had shown up to the meeting yesterday, she'd rubbed it in his face all night. Then they showed up the next day, and Clint Barton's plan had succeeded. They'd identified the target and sent S.H.I.E.L.D their findings. It all seemed unnecessary to her. Give her a gun and she could have done the same thing in an hour.

She watched him tapping his feet on the floor as he ordered. Why had he saved her? It can't have seriously been because she batted her eyelashes at him. No. S.H.I.E.L.D must want something from her, because they sure as hell weren't going to trust her enough to give her a job.

He put the phone down. Though he was a little bit of a mystery to her, that didn't mean he wasn't funny. It only took a move her hand and he'd jump out of his skin. What was that saying about spiders? They're more scared of you than you are of them. That was definitely true right now; she didn't like not knowing things. But he was definitely acting like the terrified human. All she had to do was twitch.

They coexisted silently for a while, and she could see his discomfort growing with every second she remained still. Eventually, it was too much for him, and he broke the silence. "What's your name? Your real name."

"Natalia Romanova." She stated.

"No, that's your current alias." He contradicted her.

"It could be my name." she said. "I don't really know anymore."

"You don't know your own name?" He asked disbelievingly.

"Does it matter?"

"Yeah! I mean, what do your – for want of a better word – _friends _call you?" He asked curiously.

She laughed. "I don't have anyone."

"Well, that sucks." He said.

"I don't _need_ anyone." She told him defensively.

"'Course you do, everyone does."

"Oh god, are you going to braid my hair next?" She snapped.

"Whatever." He sighed, and they fell back into that perpetual silence. Again, she could see how uncomfortable he was, because he started to tap his foot nervously on the floor. Then his hands on the arm of his chair. Then he started to pace the room, then he sat back down and started playing with his bow, firing imaginary arrows at the wall. _Dear god, _she thought _let the pizza get here soon._ The sooner this hyperactive archer had something to do with his hands, the better.

"What's with the bow and arrow, Robin Hood?" She asked.

"My weapon of choice." He told her with a cheeky smile that made her want to use the string of his bow to strangle him.

"Yeah, why? Guns too mainstream for you?"

"I've just always been good at archery. I was raised in a circus, see." He admitted. "Ran away from the orphanage with my brother when I was little. Then S.H.I.E.L.D took me in and let me keep it up."

_Holy fuck,_ she thought to herself, _when did I ask for his backstory? _His confidence shocked her a little, to get her to talk about her past like that, you'd have to knock her out and extract the memories from her brain. "Circus? Can you do juggling as well? Or is the tightrope your thing?"

"Nah, I did the whole human cannonball thing." He joked, with that smile again. They were going to have to stop this whole interaction thing if he was going to just assume he could joke with her. She wanted him to go back to the shaking bag of nerves he was ten minutes ago. What she wouldn't give to wipe that smile off his face…

Finally, there was a knock on the door. Clint practically jumped to get his wallet, out of which he found the money to pay the delivery man. She'd watched him withdraw money from a credit card machine earlier, and after memorising his pin card number, she'd seen the amount of money that poured itself out of the little slot. It had made her wonder why they were staying in this crappy hotel, but she knew better than to question the people who were technically in charge. "What's the pay like at S.H.I.E.L.D?" she asked, as he opened the pizza box and took a piece, then tentatively shoved the box in her direction. She didn't touch it.

"It's good, I guess. I don't really use it. That's for you too, you know," he told her, gesturing to the pizza, "Assuming you eat food. Do you eat food?" He asked, doing that thing again. It was lucky he was her ticket out of her life, because that smile would have got him killed by now, otherwise. Still, she was kind of hungry. She picked up a piece and took a miniscule bite off the end. "It's not poisoned." He told her blankly.

"Why don't you use it?" She asked, referring to her earlier question.

"What would I use it on?" He asked confusedly.

"A holiday?" she suggested.

"I hate doing nothing." He told her. "I'm constantly on edge when I'm not working."

She knew exactly what he was talking about. She spent her days off looking for trouble, just to have something to do. But in her mind, a holiday would be great – anything to get away from her employers.

"Do you really think S.H.I.E.L.D is even going to consider taking me on?" she asked.

"If you behave for a month." He told her.

"It's not going to change anything." She said.

"Might do." He said optimistically.

"There's too much red in my ledger." She decided.

"You're just gonna have to show them that that's in the past." He told her.

He didn't understand. He might be living in the land of freaking sunshine and rainbows, but most people were bothered by the extensive list of people she'd murdered. People can't trust you, and being a spy never helps, because why would you trust someone whose reputation says they're going to kill you in cold blood? Maybe if she offered them enough information about their enemies, S.H.I.E.L.D might do her a deal, assuming she could give them anything of value. Her employers liked to share as little detail about themselves as possible.

Once the pizza had gone, there was more awkward silence. "You can have the bed." He offered.

"Let me guess, because I'm a woman?" She snapped.

"And I'm nothing if not chivalrous." He said cheekily. God, she'd like to shoot him.

"Well, I can manage. You have it."

"I don't want it."

"Take the fucking bed." She ordered.

"Not tired."

"Neither am I." She argued. Which was a lie, of course, she was fucking exhausted.

"Please, you didn't sleep at all last night. Or is the Black Widow immune to the call of sleep?"

"You didn't sleep either; you spent the whole night in shaking in that chair."

"Okay, so I'm a little reluctant to sleep." He admitted. "Can you blame me?"

"Not really." She laughed. "Your arrows won't do much good against me, Legolas."

"Are we done with the archery jokes yet?" He asked exasperatedly.

"Why, am I hurting your feelings, princess?" Honestly, she couldn't remember what they were arguing about. He was just making it way to easy.

"Just take the bed." He sighed.

"No way, I had it last night." She hated people thinking they needed to help her. She didn't need help. She was the Black Widow; she didn't need people doing things for her. She didn't need people, period.

"I'm not going to sleep anyway, not whilst you've got that gun. You might as well take it." He told her.

"Would it help if I let you hold the gun for tonight?" She asked in a patronising voice, tilting her head to the side.

"Not really. Once you use the knife in your pocket it'd be pretty easy to take it back from my cold dead hands."

"Why would I kill you? And don't give me that 'because you're the Black Widow' bullshit!" She shouted, getting angry.

"Is it bullshit? Because it sounds pretty reasonable to me!" he argued back, also raising his voice.

"I don't just kill for fun; I do it because I have to! It's how I've been raised, it's all I know. And the people I work for don't just let you quit. How the hell do you expect your agency to give me a job when you can't even sleep in the same room as me?"

"Because I've known you for two days, and you've not exactly given me a reason to trust you!" He shouted back. "You've got to earn that."

She took a deep breath. She was impressed, not many people could get her angry like that. "I'm not going to hurt you; you're my only ticket out of here. You, on the other hand, have absolutely no reason to keep me alive."

He considered this. "Whatever. Take the bed or don't. I'm going to find a roof."

_Find a roof?_ Was that some type of American slang? He left the room, slamming the door behind him. She waited for about an hour, but he didn't come back. What if she'd pissed him off up to the point when he decided she wasn't worth the trouble anymore? No, because he'd left his wallet on the table, and his phone on the arm of his chair. Every instinct told her leave, or at least take the money from the wallet. But she refrained, because apparently, you had to gain Clint Barton's trust. She was going to have to start being a _little_ nicer, he had pissed of his entire agency just to give her a second chance. Deciding that he wasn't coming back, she slipped into the bed. She wasn't going to sleep, but that didn't mean she couldn't be comfortable. However, before she knew it, her eyes were fluttering shut, and she was sinking into the world of nightmares she avoided as often as possible.


	4. Day 4, Budapest

Clint let his feet dangle off the edge of the building. He always felt safer high up, more relaxed. It helped to clear his head, too, and to stop him thinking about angry Russian assassins in his hotel room. If the bitch didn't want his help, he didn't have to give it to her. He had enough to be getting on with, like thinking about how pissed Fury was going to be when he got back. He'd been angry every time he'd checked in with Barton, after getting over the initial shock of finding him alive.

Someone was opening the door onto the roof. He left them to find him – the longer he could go unnoticed, the better.

"Oh my god, you actually meant, _find a roof." _The Black Widow said from behind him.

"What else could I mean?"

"I dunno; some American saying?" she suggested. Tentatively, she made her way over to the edge and sat down beside him. She looked nowhere near as comfortable as he was.

They sat in silence for a while. Clint would've broken it yesterday, but right now, he just couldn't be bothered. In the end, she said "Natasha Romanoff."

"What?"

"That's my favourite alias."

"You sure?" he smirked. "'Cause once you've chosen, you're stuck with it."

"Yes, I'm sure." She said exasperatedly, rolling her eyes.

"Then it's nice to meet you, Natasha Romanoff." He smiled. She almost smiled back.

"So, assuming S.H.I.E.L.D gives me a job, what type of work am I looking at?" she asked.

"You won't get any solo missions for a while. You'll probably get a partner to follow around 'till Fury's comfortable with you."

"A partner?" she practically spat out the word.

"Yep. Come to think of it, that'll probably be my punishment." He realised.

"Just what I need, a sidekick." She sighed.

He laughed. "You'd be lucky to have me, Natasha." He said, using her new name. He preferred it to the Black Widow; it made her sound more human.

"Don't you have a partner?" she asked.

"I'm too good for everyone at the agency." He said smugly.

"Or your head takes up the space of two people." She suggested.

"Or both."

She actually laughed, like, true laughter. Clint did a mini double take in his brain. Did he deserve a medal or what?

He looked back out into the city below them, and for a second, he just saw what an ordinary person would see – the lights, the cars, and the people. But he wasn't called Hawkeye for no reason, and it didn't take him long to see the sniper.

"Get down." He ordered under his breath.

"What?"

"Now!" He pushed her down just as the shot went off. They rolled over, and she, not knowing a bullet had been fired, instinctively kneed him as hard as she could. After realising what had happened, she kept her cover but tried to get a look at the shooter.

"Holy shit!" Barton exclaimed, wincing.

"Who was that?" She demanded.

"Tried to save your fucking life and this is what I get? Motherfuck-"

"Barton, where was the shooter?"

"Agh, Jesus fucking Christ."

"Would you stop whining for a second?" She asked exasperatedly.

"Hold on, let me just get used to the fact I'm probably infertile now." He said.

"Honestly, have you never been injured before?"

"Not there. I tend to keep there as protected as I can."

"Tell me where the shooter was, I'll need to find them and take them out."

"I don't think so. Long distance is my thing, remember?" he asked. "Just keep your cover."

"Whatever you say, Katniss."

"You're gonna run out of archers one day, Romanoff." He said, as he loaded his bow and aimed. The shooter had been on a roof, just a little lower than theirs. Clint could see about ten other spots that would have served him better, but they'd been kind of lucky he'd chosen that one. He had started to move, but he'd not managed to hide himself yet. Barton hit his target, as always, and the guy fell to the ground. No one in the streets even noticed anyone had been there.

"I knew him." Natasha told him.

"Then I guess we know why he wanted to shoot you." Clint replied.

"They're already looking for me." She stated. She didn't let her tone convey worry, because god forbid the Black Widow shows any emotion besides annoyance, but somehow he knew she was worried.

"The people you work for?" He asked. She nodded. _Fuck,_ he thought. The people she worked for were the people who trained her, which meant he had a decent reason to believe they might be trouble. "We'll just have to lay low," he decided. "C'mon, let's go find another hotel."


	5. Day 5, Budapest

'Natasha', as she guessed it was now, woke up at about five in the morning. They'd found a decent hotel this time – with two bedrooms, both of them had a better chance of sleeping. Even though she managed to get to sleep, that didn't mean she could stay that way. It didn't take long for the nightmares to take over, and she'd be thrashing around and screaming at people that weren't there.

She was going to sit on the couch and find something to watch on TV, but someone had beaten her to it. Clint was laid on the sofa, seemingly concentrating on the television. He still registered her presence. "Nightmares?" He asked.

"How'd you know?"

"I could hear you." He told her.

"That's why you're up?"

"Nah, I get them too." he admitted.

He sat up on the sofa, giving her room to sit down.

"What're you watching?" She asked, as he returned his attention to a random soap opera.

"I have no idea, I can't speak this language." He said, staring at the screen intently.

"I can." She said, just to feel a little more superior.

"Well, don't ruin the game." He ordered. "You gotta guess what's going on. I thought that guy slept with that girl, but now I think that he's related to her, and I don't think I'm watching that type of show."

"Huh." She waited about a minute. "You're half right."

"Really? Go on, girlfriend or sister?" She just smirked. "Ugh, damn it. Bitch."

"Asshole." They both laughed. So, since when was she twelve years old? Also, since when did she laugh? She must've been seriously sleep deprived.

They watched for a while, probably seeing two completely different shows. Finally, curiosity overtook, and she asked "What do _you _have nightmares about?"

For a moment, he looked surprised before he said "Before I worked at S.H.I.E.l.D or the circus, I lived in an orphanage. And before that, I lived with my parents." She nodded. He didn't need to explain – he must've been taken out of their care for a reason. "What about you? What's the Black Widow scared of?"

She considered scowling at him, but couldn't summon the energy. "They _upgraded_ us." she told him bitterly. She was referring to how she'd become the Black Widow. Thankfully, he didn't ask anything else.

"Someone's angry." He muttered, as a woman on the TV hit a guy on the head.

"He cheated on her with her best friend." Natasha informed him.

"What? Which one's her best friend?"

"The blonde guy."

He frowned. "I am _so_ lost."

Smirking, she left him to try and figure it out. She checked the clock – hardly any time had passed. She'd found that was a pattern lately; time passed extremely slowly. "Do we have to do this all day?" She asked.

"Do what?"

"Nothing."

"What do you want to do? We're pretty much confined to this apartment." He told her.

"Exactly. There's nothing to do except watch crappy soap operas!"

She made a hand gesture with this statement that made Clint flinch; he looked a little worried. "Um, you could… change the channel, if you want…"

"But I need something to _do!"_ she sighed. "Something productive, I can't just sit here all day and watch TV."

"…Uh, okay, there's not much else you can do…" He told her, twirling one of his arrows around in his fingers.

"Can I play with your arrow?"

Now he looked terrified. "Is that like a euphemism, or-"

She threw one of the sofa pillows at his head. "Please? Can I just try and shoot it at the wall or something?"

He inched away from her. "But it's _mine._" He said unsurely.

"_I_ just said _please,_ Clint. _Me._"

"Promise you won't break it?" He asked.

"How am I going to break it?" she asked exasperatedly.

"You're not a very nice person and I'm scared you'll snap it out of spite." He admitted.

"Give me the god damn bow, Barton!" she ordered.

He sighed. "Just- j- Nata- Please be careful!" He stumbled over his words as he handed her the bow.

She took it off him and started plucking arrows out of his quiver that was on the floor by his feet. Funnily enough, she didn't have much experience with archery, so she had to take some time to work it out.

"Tasha, you're not even holding it the right way up." He told her. _Tasha._ What; was three syllables too much for his tiny brain? He began to laugh. "You're doing it completely wrong, you-" He was interrupted when she let the arrow fly and it hit a vase of flowers.

They both started laughing. Clint snatched his bow off her. "I recommend you stick with the guns." He laughed. She elbowed him and went to pick everything up.

After she'd picked everything up, she looked around the room. "I am going to clean stuff." She decided.

"Feeling domestic?" He asked with his smile that she'd started to get used to.

"This room needs to be cleaned." She stated.

"It's pretty clean already." He told her.

"I've never cleaned before. Where are the cleaning things kept?"

"I've never cleaned either." He confessed.

"Then get up off your ass and help me find some cleaning stuff." She ordered.

Reluctantly, he dragged himself off the couch and started to look around the hotel room. "Ugh, maybe in here?" He gestured to a cabinet, which upon opening, he discovered was empty.

She opened the fridge door and peered in. "Why have they given us so much alcohol? Do we look like we're alcoholics?"

"Wow; that is a lot." He remarked, seeing the many bottles of vodka. "Did we pay extra?"

"This should make the soap operas more interesting." She said, taking a bottle and drinking straight from it. "Hmm. It's good vodka."

He took the bottle from her and took a swig; nodding in agreement. "So, do you get nicer when you're drunk or are you more likely to kill me?"

"I don't get drunk easily." She told him.

"Funny, neither do I." he said. "This could be a fun game." He proposed with the smile.

"Are you suggesting a competition?"

"Are you accepting?"

She considered this. "I'm very competitive."

"Me too. Look how much we're learning about each other!"

"You're on, Barton."

"Drink up, Romanoff."


	6. Day 6, Budapest

"This is Director Fury. It's 11:30, the 6th of February. This recording marks the sixth day of Mission Black Death. Hawkeye, do you read me?" Fury's voice sounded out in Clint's earpiece.

"I do, sir." Clint replied.

"Hawkeye, I'd like you to explain what happened last night."

He had to start with the hard questions, didn't he? Clint's memory didn't exist past sitting cross-legged on the floor with Natasha next to the fridge, passing a bottle of vodka back and forth. "I…"

"Would you like to hear a recording of the mission report you gave me last night?"

_Fuck. _

He and Natasha were sat in a small café, watching their target. He was drinking coffee and eating a sandwich. They were mirroring him, observing his behaviours. Natasha was nodding at him, so it didn't look like he was talking to himself whilst he reported to Fury. "Sir, I-"

"Let's take a listen." Fury said.

A recording began to play. "Director Fury, helloooooo." Clint's voice said.

"Bonjourr sir." Natasha said.

"Hawkeye?" Fury's voice asked.

"Hawkeye. That's mee!"

"…Hawkeye." Natasha wondered slowly. "You're not… You're not a hawk."

"Nope, nope, nope." Clint said. "Buuuut I have a hawk eye. Look!"

"Hawkeye, are you drunk?" Fury demanded.

"I don't get drink." Clint shouted defiantly.

"I don't get drink either." Natasha added.

"You'll be lucky to have a job when you get back here, I swear-"

"He says I'll be lucky to have a job when you get back here." Clint relayed to her, as he was the only one with an earpiece.

"I, I need a job when you get back here." Natasha said.

"Tell her not to get her hopes up." Fury snapped. "Why are either of you drunk on a mission?"

"We had nothing to do!" Clint said defensively. "And we tried to clean but there was no cleaning stuff."

"Are we going to clean?" Natasha asked.

"But there was lots of alcohol, so me and Natasha had a competition of drinking-"

"Who's Natasha?" Fury asked.

"_Who's_ _Natasha?" _Clint repeated, and the two of them burst out laughing.

"Natasha is me!" Natasha informed him, giggling.

"You named her?" Fury demanded.

"Clint! Look! There are birds on a nature channel!" She informed him. "They might have hawk's eyes."

"Let me see!"

"Hawkeye, you better be sober when I check in tomorrow." Fury ordered. "I'd like you to be able to comprehend what I'm saying when I decide whether or not to deploy you to a warzone."

"Over and up, sir."

The recording finished, and there was silence on the line. Clint resisted the urge to slap himself on the head.

"Sir… I am so, so, so, so sorry." Clint said, cringing.

"What's up?" Natasha asked.

"We drunk-dialled my boss." Clint sighed.

"Hawkeye, you've made a lot of decisions over the past six days that are starting to make me doubt your ability to finish this mission. One more mistake and I'm going to declare you compromised. Over."

"I think he hates me more than you do." Clint informed her, taking a bite of his sandwich.

"I doubt it." She laughed.

"You both love me really. He's just bluffing, if he fired me the whole agency would fall apart." Clint told her confidently.

"They might actually get stuff done." She joked.

At least one good thing had come from the alcohol; Natasha seemed to trust him a little more. Not that much, but enough that they didn't flinch when the other moved anymore, and they could share a hotel room. Clint could shower now without pushing things up against the door so she couldn't come in.

"So what were you doing in Budapest before you met me?" Clint asked.

"Some guy stole some money from us; I just had to take him out."

"A bit harsh, don't you think?" Clint said. S.H.I.E.L.D didn't usually kill people over financial troubles.

She shrugged. "He pissed them off."

"When did you start working for them?"

"Very young."

"I don't get it. If you didn't like working for them, why didn't you get out earlier? I know it must be hard to escape them, but you're pretty good at what you do…"

"It's not just hard, it's almost impossible. I'm surprised I've made it this long. And they keep a special watch on me, I was the best they got out of the Black Widow programme, they really didn't want to lose me." She told him.

"The Black Widow programme?" He asked. The face she made next warned him not to ask that question again. _Don't piss away all this progress, _he told himself. "Not good? Okay. So if they manage to find you, what do they do then? Kill you?"

"No, they'll probably just… put me back in the programme." She said. Fear flickered across her face, and he felt kind of bad for her. Scared didn't suit her.

"They won't find you." He told her confidently.

"If they do, do me a favour? Assuming you're not already dead?" she said. He waited for her to ask. "Kill me."

She looked at him expectantly, wanting an answer. He considered it – it was probably the kindest thing to do. Still, just the idea of it seemed like a waste; he'd gone to all this trouble to keep her alive? And not to sound selfish, but he didn't want a load of angry Russians on his back because he killed their best spy. Which was his mission in the first place, but now he had a way to avoid that. "They won't find you." He repeated.

"Please."

_Jesus, did she just ask for help and say please in one go? _Never did he think he'd pity the Black Widow. That, if anything, made him a little more comfortable. She probably didn't let anyone else see her in this kind of state. In fact, she definitely didn't. Clint came to the kind of sad conclusion that he was the closest thing she had to a friend. Well, what are friends for?

"Okay." He promised. "But it doesn't matter, because we're not going to let them find you. Okay?"

"Okay."


	7. Day 7, Budapest

Natasha couldn't help but let a little smile play upon her lips when she woke up. Finally, after five days of doing absolutely fuck all, they were going to get out and do something productive. Taking out their target. Murder. Always a good way to lift her spirits.

Though working at S.H.I.E.L.D seemed like an excellent prospect, if they were going to do everything this slow then she wasn't going to last long there. _Kill first, ask questions later _– that's what she'd been taught to do, not this whole assessment type of thing. Why should she care about the target's habits and associates? Clint said it was so they could learn more about their business, and to hopefully bring more people down. _Bullshit,_ she thought, because after a week of following this target around, they'd all they'd gleaned from him was that he exchanged money and hushed conversations in the corners of cheap cafes, something Natasha would have guessed of any drug lord.

Never mind though, because as soon as this target was down, she'd done her bit and helped Clint, hopefully giving S.H.I.E.L.D a reason to trust her. Then she only had to survive the rest of the month without killing Clint, which she was sure would be harder than it sounded.

"You look happy." Clint stated, emerging from the bathroom.

"Got a problem with that?"

"It's unnerving." He said.

"We've got something to do!" She almost giggled.

"Stop it, it's creepy." He said.

"And it's raining!" She said, looking out of the window at the streets that were now distorted due to the heavy downpour.

"So?"

"Rain is my favourite weather." She told him.

"Is sunshine too happy for you?"

"So, how are we going to do it?" She asked.

"Do what?"

"Sail the fucking sea. What do you think?" She said sarcastically. "Are you going to let me shoot him, or are you gonna make me watch while you do your Robin Hood thing? Or maybe we could-"

"We're going to take him out from a distance, and assuming you stop with the archer jokes, I might let you do it." He said, grinning reluctantly.

"Really? You're actually going to let me do something?" She exclaimed.

"Yep."

"This day is getting better and better." She smiled to herself.

"Don't get too excited, it should be a simple job." He warned.

Soon they were leaving, venturing out into the streets of Budapest, Natasha with a little more bounce in her step now that the day had some kind of purpose. The conditions couldn't have been more perfect – Clint had overheard the guy talking about his plans to meet a contact for an exchange near an abandoned warehouse, meaning they wouldn't have to worry about witnesses.

They arrived before the arranged meeting time to find a good vantage point. Natasha sat eagerly; she couldn't wait to feel the satisfaction of pulling the trigger on someone that deserved it. When she voiced this feeling to Clint, he told her she was unhealthily bloodthirsty.

A stout man, with dark stubbly hair, whose face was clouded by the smoke of his cigar, entered the room flanked by four muscular bodyguard figures and a tall blond man with pointed features. The tall man was sneering and looking around the room confidently. Sheepishly, the stout man cowered behind him looking rather uncomfortable.

Realisation hit her before they even said anything, because she recognised the tall man's cruel face. They'd been lured here.

Clint threw her a questioning look when she took a sharp intake of breath.

"That tall one," She whispered; her voice barely louder than the gentle tapping of the rain on the warehouse roof, "Used to be my supervisor." She informed him. "I guess we never lost him, because he must've seen us watching him." She pointed towards the stout man, their target. "They've teamed up."

"Well, there are only six of them. I've gotten out of worse messes. And if we get all of them, we're done!" He muttered optimistically, as the tall man ordered two of the bodyguards to start checking behind crates to look for the two spies.

"I don't think so. They must've made a deal with the drug lord to plant false information to lure us here, he'd have agreed with it so he wouldn't have any attempts on his life. But he wouldn't have put himself at risk just to get us here." Natasha told him.

He took a moment to process her words. "So the guy here now isn't the drug lord, he's just impersonating him. _Fucking fantastic." _Clint sighed. "Fury's gonna love this."

"Never mind that, we have to get out of here…"

The tall man had started to shout. He had a strong accent. "Natalie, Natasha, Alianovna… Which name are you using today? Where's the Black Widow hiding?" He taunted, waving a pistol in the air. "We've come to take you home… Start your training again… Maybe your new friend could join you."

She hated showing signs of weakness, and therefore hated herself for the involuntary shiver of fear she let run down her spine. Even more because Clint saw it. He looked for a second as though he was going to try and comfort her, and then thought better of it. She looked him in the eye and said, "Remember our deal?"

He nodded reluctantly. Pulling an arrow out of his quiver and positioning it in his bow, he jerked his head to indicate she took the three men on the left. _That wasn't right_, she thought, as she took her two handguns out of their holsters. She should've liked to take the right, as she was more familiar with the fighting style of the tall man. However, there was no time to argue as Clint had already started dodging round empty crates to get a clear view of his enemies. He was way too impulsive for her liking.

She followed suit and twisted her way through the maze of boxes. She needed to be within a closer range of her victims than Clint, she was as adept with her guns as he with his arrows, but she preferred hand to hand combat. Searching the room once she'd found a point close enough to them, she found Clint just visible on a perch of piled crates. They found each other's gaze and Clint gave a small nod that clearly meant: _Go for it._

Taking the men by surprise, she jumped out from behind her crate and aimed a swiping kick at one of the bodyguards shins so he tripped over and fell to the floor. As he fell he tried to grab a hold of her arm, but she dodged him and aimed another kick at his head. Another bodyguard formed a fist and put all his strength into a hit, but she was too quick. Catching his arm, she twisted it round and pulled him down, and started to execute one of her most effective moves – the thigh hold – when an arrow came soaring towards her head. She was forced to let go of the bodyguard and roll onto the ground.

"What the fucking hell, Clint?" She shouted, as he simultaneously shouted, "What the hell, Natasha?"

"You just shot at me!" She bellowed.

"I was aiming for that guy's head; I didn't expect you to be straddling it!" Clint shouted back, diving from his hiding place to join the fight close up.

"What an excellent team!" remarked the tall man coolly, as though the proceedings were only mildly interesting to him. "Not had much time to practice together, I gather?"

The bodyguard she had previously been working on doubled over as he suffered the blow of three of her well-aimed punches, before she kicked him in the groin and he sank to his knees. Another man took a run at her and she slid on her knees between his legs. Stupidly, he bent forwards to see where she'd gone. She'd already stood back up and used his back that was now bent over as a springboard to flip towards the tall man. Using her thigh hold again, she caused him to flip onto the floor. She was just about to kick his head to knock him out when Clint fell into her, knocked back by one of the remaining bodyguards. "Clint!" She exclaimed angrily, but she doubted that he heard as he was already back fighting.

Within that ten second distraction, the tall man had stood himself up again. Sweeping his blond hair out of his face, he aimed a kick at Natasha, who ducked just in time and managed to catch his leg. She tried to throw him off balance, but he did a cartwheel like move that forced her to let go. She aimed a punch for his face. He didn't stumble when her fist found its mark, but instead grabbed her outstretched arm and started to bend it backwards. Ignoring the pain, she took her foot and placed it behind his, and used her other arm to force him to trip. His head hit the hard, stone floor first, and it looked like he'd been knocked out. As he fell though, he pushed her arm into an even more unnatural position, so once he'd fallen she jumped back in pain. Unfortunately, she fell back into Clint, who was knocked forward and accidentally head-butted the stout man in the chest. "Natasha!" He whined, forcefully reminding Natasha of a child whose game had been ruined. She moved behind him as he finished fighting the last bodyguard left standing. He decided to finish him off with his arrows, but as he pulled back the string he elbowed Natasha in the eye. "Watch what you're doing!" She ordered, but he'd already shot the man in the head, and he'd fallen with the others. He aimed a final arrow at the unconscious blond man lying on the floor.

Only the stout man was left now, standing in the middle of his five fallen guards. The cigar cloud had dispersed from his face now, revealing a look of pure terror. This was obviously much more than what he was paid for.

Natasha took a few steps towards him before grabbing him by his collar and slamming him against a wall. "Where's the drug lord?" She demanded.

"Пожалуйста, пожалуйста!" He said. "Please!"

She didn't even have to speak, it was so easy. Just staring into his eyes would crack him…

"He… He… The café! Everyday! The café, near the river! They 'ave blue and green lights! I know not the name! Please!"

Natasha continued to stare at him, but before she'd noticed it, his hand had slipped down to his jacket in which he'd been concealing a small handgun. Clint shouted 'No!' a moment too late, before he drew the gun up and shot himself in the head. His body crumpled over itself like a puppet whose puppeteer had let go.

"I thought he was going to shoot you?" Clint said, bewildered.

"Then he'd have had to shoot you as well, and you'd have been quicker." She explained, as they left the warehouse and started walking hurriedly in the rain, in pursuit of another hotel room.

"Jesus, what did he think we were going to do to him? He obviously didn't know much…"

"You're so naïve." She said, tilting her head to the side. Sometimes it was literally like walking around with a small child. _Or a very vulnerable puppy,_ she thought.

"Hey, I've never seen anyone do that thigh hold thing before! That was awesome. Imagine if you could say that you died being choked to death by a woman's thighs."

_One of those really small, cute but really annoying puppies that just don't leave you alone._

"Yeah, if I have to go, between your thighs would be a good way to go. Make sure that happens for me, Nat." he joked.

_Nat. _She kind of wanted to be annoyed at him for shortening her name even further, but she liked the way that sounded. Yeah, she could live with being called Nat.


	8. Day 8, Budapest

After walking around in the rain all night, turning at every corner, taking random buses and getting lost in as many big crowds as possible, they had to hope they'd lost anyone that might've followed them. Clint was still waiting for Fury's call. Eventually they found a nice looking hotel, where the woman at the front desk looked most displeased when they sloped in and started dripping all over the spotless lobby.

Upon finding their room, Clint immediately stripped off the top half of his S.H.I.E.L.D uniform that had plastered itself to his body. Natasha, who was wearing leggings and a hoodie, simply stood in the doorway, whilst the water dripping off of her collected in a puddle.

He headed for the bathroom, intending to have a shower with the temperature around 'molten lava', but Natasha cut in front of him. "Oh, no you don't." She said.

"I need a shower!" he said.

"So do I, I'm freezing!"

"Well, tough. I'm calling dibs, shotgun, or whatever."

"I'm not ten, Barton," She said rolling her eyes. "And what happened to '_I'm nothing if not chivalrous'_?"

"What happened to being the Black Widow? I didn't think you suffered from such mortal things as temperature?" he asked.

"Move out of the way, I'm going first." She said, pushing him aside and blocking him out of the bathroom.

"Come on," He pleaded, "I'll be quicker." She shut the door and locked it on him. "There's got to be enough room for both of us in there!" He shouted through the door, laughing in his head at the idea of her actually letting that happen. "Ugh. Bitch."

He flung himself down on the couch, determined to soak it so she'd have nowhere to sit. Lying there freezing, his earpiece began crackling. "This is Director Fury. It's 11:30, the 8th of February. This recording marks the eighth day of Mission Black Death. Hawkeye, do you read me?"

"Yes, sir." Clint said, sitting up.

"Did everything go as planned?"

"Uh, no. Turned out the guy we'd been following was just a decoy. And Natasha's old supervisor was there. But we got out okay."

"How did her old supervisor know you were there?" Fury asked suspiciously.

"He must've been working with the decoy guy, and they let us hear the details of the meeting so we'd go and-"

"What if _she _told them where you'd be?" He asked.

"Natasha? Sir, I've told you-"

"How can you know that she's not lying to you?"

"She's had plenty of opportunity to kill me, sir, and she's not done it yet. If she was going to, why wouldn't she have done it by now?"

Fury paused, apparently stumped. "I don't know, Hawkeye, but all you've told me is that you went to a fake meeting that was set up by her supervisor. That's suspicious."

"Her _old _supervisor, sir." Clint corrected.

"I'm not so sure."

"We think we know where to find the real target. We're going to lay low for a day or two though, just in case anyone's still following us." Hawkeye informed, losing his patience.

"Hawkeye, just think about how she earned her reputa-"

"I think that's all, sir. Over." He took his earpiece out. _Some people are so stubborn,_ he thought. After a whole week, did Fury not think Clint would have a better read on her than he did? He looked towards the bathroom; he could hear the shower. She wasn't going to kill him. She was okay, really, even fun at times. She just needed to find a way to prove it to Fury.


	9. Day 9, Budapest

At 1am, Natasha woke up from her usual nightmares. She wasn't at all surprised either, to find Clint wide awake. He was repeatedly punching the wall, his knuckles starting to bleed. He acknowledged her presence by giving a slight nod in her direction before returning to the wall.

She curled up on the sofa and watched him. That was one of the only ways she could get a dreamless sleep, training until she was so exhausted she'd be able to literally collapse on her bed. Clint's blood was trickling down his arms.

"Hey, hey." She said, standing up. "Come on."

"What?"

"Training. We can punch each other instead of the wall." She said.

He grinned. "Okay."

"Woah, wash your hands first. I don't want your blood all over me."

"Seriously?" he asked, heading to the sink.

"Yes, seriously, I don't want to have to use the shower in this hotel again. There's no hot water."

"Whatever. Okay, come on then."

They began sparring - Natasha wasn't trying too hard, neither was he. However, this was probably practice they needed; if they remained as out of sync as they were the other day, they'd be dead by the end of the month. She began to advise him on different moves. "You know, when you do that, it'd be better if you aimed here, 'cause then you'd find it easier to get into this position and snap their neck-"

"Woah, woah, woah," He took a step back, "We're not aiming to kill!"

"Yeah, right. I know that. Come on."

Eventually, the pace picked up and they started fighting for real. He threw a punch and she caught it, so he aimed a kick that missed as she dodged. She stepped back into a wall that she used to push off as she kicked him in the stomach. He backed up and fell onto the couch, and she dropped her guard completely and started to laugh.

"Shut up." He said, grinning reluctantly. "There's not enough room, we've gotta move some stuff."

Together, they took all the furniture in the room and shoved it all either in the bedrooms or the bathroom. They cleared a space in the middle of the room and resumed fighting. They carried on until 3am when a member of the hotel staff knocked at the door and took a sweeping look at the room; his eye's lingering on the missing furniture, the blood on the wall and then on Clint and Natasha, who were both sweating and panting, before asking them politely to keep it down as it was 3am.

Suppressing smirks, they both sat cross legged on the floor and began speculating about what the hotel guy thought they'd been doing.

"How old are you?" He asked, in a way that made her think he'd been wondering for a while but was too scared to ask in case she attacked him.

"Twenty. You?"

"Twenty one. So are we allowed to ask personal questions now?" He asked with the cheeky smile shed gotten accustomed to, now she found it normal and a little less annoying.

"Maybe a few."

"Okay, so where do you live?"

"I just do this all the time." She said confusedly. "I don't _live_ anywhere."

"You don't?"

"You do?"

"Uh, yeah," he said disbelievingly. "I have an apartment."

"What do you do with it?" she asked.

"…Sleep in it?" he suggested. "But you don't do that sort of thing, right?"

"They wouldn't have been able to keep a close watch on us if we all lived in different places." Natasha said. By now, Clint knew that she meant her old bosses, and he also knew not to ask.

"America's going to be very different for you. We're all about freedom and stuff over there." He told her.

"So I could get my own apartment?" She knew she'd never use it, but it was weird to think about it.

"Well, I mean, you'd need money and stuff first." He told her. "They don't just give them away."

"Oh."

"But S.H.I.E.L.D will find you some place to stay. They have beds and stuff for agents who're working long hours."

"Right." She said. So far, she'd not actually stopped to consider the possibility that everything would work. She was so sure that someone from her past would catch up with them, or Clint's boss wouldn't give her a job, or even that this was all some elaborate scheme to capture the Black Widow. Never had she thought about how it might actually happen, that she'd suddenly be living in a new country, homeless with no money. "So, are we going to look for the drug lord tomorrow?" she said, changing the subject. They'd decided they'd stay in the hotel for another day, just in case.

"Yeah. But I think it's probably best if I go on my own. Just because they'll find it harder to recognise one of us than both of us."

"I guess." She lay back on the floor. The idea of doing nothing for another day killed her a little on the inside, and not having company would make it even worse.

"…Is that okay?" He asked, hearing the tone of her voice.

"Yeah, sure." She said.

She continued to lie there, staring at the ceiling. Eventually, Clint lay down as well, and soon they both fell asleep, lying on the empty floor.

**Disclaimer: I've forgotten to do this so far, but I don't own Marvel or any of its characters.**

**A/N: Thanks if you've followed/favourited. Please leave a review!**


	10. Day 10, Budapest

Clint was sat on his own in a café looking out onto a river, blue and green fairy lights hanging down from the ceiling. His phone, that had not worked for a fortnight was pressed up against his ear so he could talk on his earpiece without arousing suspicion. Apparently, Phil Coulson had persuaded Fury to let him talk to Clint about how his mission was going. Phil was a mentor to Clint, he'd been the one that had got him a job at S.H.I.E.L.D. Unsurprisingly, Phil did not approve of the new friend Clint had made on his mission.

"She's an assassin, Clint." Phil said wearily.

"And I'm a magical pony trainer." Clint said sarcastically.

"Okay, forget about her for a moment. Let's say you can trust her. You're still going to have a load of her old friends after you while you finish the mission, which is already complicating things. And we're not picking you up 'till the end of the month, you've gotta survive 'till then."

"Why is that, by the way? Why couldn't you pick us up early?" Clint asked.

"Fury wants you to take time off, apparently you work too much."

"Oh, please. I took a holiday last… Okay, I see his point." Clint said.

"Are you at the café?"

"Uh huh. The guy's two tables across from me." Clint looked over at the man two tables down. He looked like he was in his sixties. His clothes looked expensive and his greying hair was slicked back. "He's eating a bagel. He looks really rich and he's being flanked by two girls that look about a billion years too young for him."

"Where's _she_?" Phil asked, leaving Clint with no doubt as to whom _she_ was.

"_She_ is back in the hotel room. You know, I don't know why everyone is acting like this. Am I dead? No! If she was going to try and kill me, she'd have done it by now." Clint reasoned.

"Maybe she wants to get into S.H.I.E.L.D. We've got a lot of sensitive files involving her…" Phil said, as Clint sighed in exasperation. "You'd feel different if you knew everything she's done in the past, Clint."

"Coulson, I used to be part of a circus. Now I'm an agent for a secret intelligence agency. People change." Clint said.

"Not that much." Phil said darkly.

"Look, I get the feeling she was made to do that stuff. I mean, she won't talk about it much, but she is scared of the people she used to work for."

"Still… Even if she doesn't kill you, Clint, Fury will."

"_That_ I won't deny."

"He will literally _kill_ you." Phil repeated.

"Thanks Coulson. Listen, I gotta go, the guy just left. Plus, Natasha's gonna go mad if I leave her in that hotel room much longer." Clint told him.

"Whatever. Good luck, Clint."

"Right. See you." Clint heaved himself out of the chair and set off towards the hotel. The weather had brightened up considerably, the odd cloud was scattered across a slightly pink sky as the sun set. Along with the relaxing sound of the river, he could have enjoyed a pleasant walk home.

But Clint had to take the side streets and alleyways, past all the kicked over trash cans being searched through by stray cats and walls decorated with bad graffiti. Every now and then, he felt like something was moving behind him. At first, he just decided that it was him being paranoid, that his mind was playing tricks on him. But there was a limit to what his imagination could invent, and he eventually decided to go and investigate.

Approaching the trash can he'd heard a clatter behind, he leant down to find the source. Before he knew what had happened, there was a piercing pain down his left side. Luckily, the knife had pierced him away from anywhere it could do serious permanent damage. He took a second to assess the wound. His attacker obviously didn't have very good aim. Speaking of his attacker…

Clint whipped round and saw the guy that had stabbed him. Diving out of the way as the guy aimed another shot, Clint opened the briefcase he'd been carrying to conceal his crossbow. He snapped it into place and pulled out an arrow. He aimed a kick at the guy, who staggered back a little. The guy tried to throw a punch but Clint caught it and hit him in the head, knocking him to the ground. He loaded his bow and pulled his arrow back, pointing it at the guy's head.

"Who the hell are you?" He demanded, though his voice failed slightly. Maybe the knife hadn't hit anything serious, but he was losing a lot of blood.

The man began mumbling something indistinct.

"Who are you?" Clint repeated slowly and clearly.

"Where is the Black Widow?" Asked the man.

"Oh. You used to work with her?" Clint said. He was starting to feel a little lightheaded.

"We don't want you. Just leave and let us take her back." Proposed the man.

"That's okay, thanks." Clint said coldly.

Grinning maliciously, the man said, "Then we'll find you both."

Clint watched him for a second before letting the arrow fly, finding its mark in his head. Staggering a little, Clint clutched the bloody wound on his side that was still bleeding. The hotel was only three streets away. He just had to make it three streets.


	11. Day 11, Budapest

Natasha was going out of her mind with boredom. Clint hadn't come back all night, and his phone was broken so she couldn't call him. She'd carved pictures into the wooden floor, built a fort, and watched a spider crawl about the apartment for three hours, and she was fresh out of ideas for something to do.

Just as she was thinking about getting some breakfast, she heard the lock clicking. Instinct made her draw her gun and point it at the door.

Clint stumbled in, and she dropped her gun. "Where the hell have you been?" she demanded.

He removed the hand that was clutching his side, revealing a large wound. She rolled her eyes. "What did you do?"

"I'm dying here!" Clint panted.

"Don't _whine_." She said, guiding him over to the couch. "What happened?"

"One of your old friends tried to stab me last night," he told her, wincing as she tried to examine the wound.

"Wait. Last night? What took you so long?"

"Um, there were more of them when I got closer to the hotel…" He said nervously.

"You fought more of them with half your blood gone? You can't even stand up!"

"… I got lost, okay?" He admitted.

"Top agent at S.H.I.E.L.D, ladies and gentlemen." She said sarcastically. "Take your shirt off."

"Buy me a drink first."

She sighed exasperatedly, and he laughed before struggling to pull it over his head. She began to clean the blood away; he kept wincing whenever she touched the wound. She'd like to have given him a _real_ injury, but she supposed it wasn't the best time.

"Ow. Ow. Ow." He groaned. "Nat, it hurts."

"Yeah, stab wounds do that." She said. "You should be okay for now. Do you feel okay?"

"Kinda. Can you get me a glass of water?" He asked.

"I'm not your maid!" She said.

"Fine." He grunted, standing up.

"Ugh, sit down." She ordered, shoving him back onto the couch. She filled him a glass; then sat on the couch next to him. "So they know where we are?"

"Probably. We should go to a different hotel."

"Yeah. But you should get some rest first."

"Right." He agreed. He took out his earpiece and spread himself out on the couch.

She went back to being bored again, her only company asleep. She almost dropped off herself, before she noticed his earpiece buzzing slightly. She picked it up. "Hawkeye? Hawkeye?" A voice was asking.

"Hello?" She said.

"Oh, god, you killed him, didn't you?" Fury's voice asked from the earpiece.

"No!" She said defensively.

"Where is he, then?" Fury demanded.

"He's sleeping!"

"Yeah, right." He scoffed.

A million insults were waiting at the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't say any of them; hopefully, this was her future boss.

"He was injured yesterday, he's recovering right now." She reported.

"Badly injured?"

"He'll be fine." She said.

"Right. Tell him to check in with me as soon as he wakes up." He ordered. She could hear the sceptical tone in his voice; it was clear he doubted Clint would be waking up. She began to say, 'okay then,' but Fury had cut through her words by ending the communication. She threw the earpiece back next to the sleeping Clint, rolling her eyes.


	12. Day 12, Budapest

"We need something to do." Clint stated.

"No shit." Natasha said, banging her head on the floor. Clint had updated Fury, who had made him swear to take a day or two to rest before doing anything. This proved Phil Coulson's point; Fury was trying to get Clint to take a holiday. Which meant that Fury didn't give two shits about the guy they were taking out, because otherwise he'd have told Clint to suck it up and get on with the mission. He'd given him a target that was enough of a challenge that Clint didn't realise he was fucking with him, but easy enough that Clint should be done with some time to spare. Maybe he'd intended the time off to be a reward for a successful assassination attempt on the Black Widow. Well, it had blown up in his face, hadn't it? Clint's 'easy enough' mission had been fucked with by the KGB getting involved, looking to find their runaway assassin.

Natasha was sat cross legged on the floor, staring at the wood as if it was going to speak to her and give her something to do. Lying on the couch, Clint was counting how many dead flies there were in the lamp shade. For some reason, Natasha was pissed at Fury too, so they'd both enjoyed ten minutes of verbally abusing him before they fell back into their perpetual boredom.

"We could get a movie." He suggested.

"I don't want to watch a movie."

"Then _you _think of something better!" He said, annoyed.

"We could go and finish the mission." She spat.

"I told Fury-"

"I know! But you're fucking fine!" she complained.

"So, a movie?" He said tentatively.

"Fine." She sighed, glaring at him. "Which one?"

"Pulp Fiction." He said eagerly. Probably his favourite film ever, but apparently not hers, because she continued to stare at him expectantly. "The Shawshank Redemption. The Godfather. Fight Club." She didn't show the slightest bit of enthusiasm. "Ferris Bueller's Day Off?" He suggested half-heartedly. She looked like she might slit his throat. "Okay what; you want The Notebook or 27 Dresses or some other shit like that?"

"I can't believe you've known me for over a week and you think I'd like The Notebook." She said distastefully. "I just don't feel in the mood to watch a movie."

"Come on, we can get a bunch of them and some popcorn. It'll pass the time quicker."

"Fine." She said. "But I don't eat popcorn."

They had a mini argument over why that was weird, and then they argued over who got to go to the video store, which they resolved with a game of rock paper scissors. After winning, Clint smirked and jumped up off the couch.

Along the way, Clint kept a lookout for anyone after them. He saw a few people that looked suspicious, but he may have just been being paranoid, because he got back to the apartment safe and sound with all his purchases.

"I got you a bag of chips, by the way, you freak." He said. Natasha was sat on the couch upside down; she caught the bag he threw to her. "Though what type of person doesn't eat popcorn, I don't know."

"Why did you buy lollypops?" She asked, pulling them out of the shopping bag.

"Hey, they're mine!" He snatched them away.

She began searching through the movies he'd picked. "Lord of the Rings? Well, that makes sense, Legolas. I'd have expected the Hunger Games to be in here somewhere."

"Please, I could run circles around Katniss Everdeen." He retorted.

"Finding Nemo?"

"Shut up, it's a guilty pleasure."

"You're a ten year old boy deep down inside, aren't you, Barton?" she said patronisingly.

He took the DVDs off her and searched through them to pick one out. "Kinda. But before we're watching that, we're watching Pulp Fiction, come on."


	13. Day 13, Budapest

Natasha was sat in the now familiar café overlooking the river with the blue and green fairy lights. Her eyes kept flicking inconspicuously to the elderly man on the table next to her. His slicked back black hair was streaked with grey, matching his long thing moustache and thick stubble. He had deep set eyes, bushy eyebrows, a large nose and a larger forehead.

Three young girls in their twenties were sat at his table with him, fake smiles plastered on their faces. Natasha wondered how much they were being paid to be there. Men like that made Natasha sick, mainly because she'd had to pretend to be one of those girls multiple times before.

"Anton Salkov?" A tall man with a very business-like aura approached him and held out a hand.

Chuckling, Anton Salkov took his hand and shook it, using his other hand to gesture to the empty seat at the table. Whilst the man sat himself down, Salkov gave his hands a light brush with his napkin, as if he thought the man had contaminated him.

The two men engaged in light conversation for ten minutes or so, discussing good holiday spots and restaurants. They spoke in Russian, but Natasha had decided the night before that she was going to practice thinking in English, so she translated everything in her head. After they'd finished with the formalities, they leaned in over the table, talking in hushed voices, and Natasha could only guess they'd moved onto business. They were too far away to hear, so she adjusted her chair by making a big deal about dropping her spoon. When she had a better view of them, she saw that their discussion wasn't going to plan. She could see the hostility in both men's faces.

Things got more heated, and evidently, Salkov just didn't feel in the mood to give a fuck. He leant back in his chair and said, "That is my final offer. Take a day. Consider. Tomorrow, my wife and I shall be attending a party at this location." He took a pen out and scribbled an address on a piece of paper. "The host is lax about security. I'll be there under a different name, of course, but you'll be able to get in with no trouble. Think about my offer, we'll speak then."

Salkov went to shake the man's hand, but then seemed to think better of it. He stood up, the three girls following suit, and left the man alone in the café.

The man's annoyance clearly flitted across his face. He stuffed the piece of paper with the address on in his coat pocket. Seeing her chance, Natasha drunk all her coffee in one, then turned a little to the side so he could see more than her back. She waited for him to turn around; then _accidentally_ let him catch her looking at him. He watched her for a moment, and she flashed a friendly smile at him. His eyes widened, and she turned her back on him again, and waited.

"Hey, mind if I sit here?" Asked the man ten seconds later, tapping her on the back.

"Not at all." She smiled.

Draping his coat over the back of an empty chair, he introduced himself. "Alexander." He told her, his eyes a little south of her face. She resisted the temptation to roll her eyes.

"Yelena." She lied easily.

"Can I buy you a coffee, Yelena?"

"I'd like that." She said, leaning back.

After he'd sorted out her order, he headed up to the counter. Wasting no time, she slid her hand in his coat pocket and found the address. She also found a pen in there, which she used to copy it out onto her wrist. Shoving everything back where it came from, she sat back into her chair and waited for him to come back. When he returned, she was faking a phone call to no one in particular.

He set her coffee down on the table, sat down, leaned forward and opened his mouth before she cut him off. "Listen, I'm sorry, but I have to go, it's a bit of an emergency. Maybe I'll see you here tomorrow?" She asked, faking hopefulness.

"Um, yeah, okay." He stuttered.

"Okay. Bye!" She left him alone in the café, heading back to the hotel room.

Clint was hanging upside down on the couch, shooting his arrows at the wall. "Hey, Nat, watch this. If I tie a rope to this arrow, and shoot it at the ceiling, I can climb up like Spiderman. Want to see?"

"No. We have something to do." She told him.

He rolled off the couch. "You're serious?" He asked disbelievingly.

"Yep. Come on, we're thinking up aliases. We're going to a party tomorrow."


	14. Day 14, Budapest

Clint tugged at his collar. The crappy tux he'd rented was either too small or too big, depending on what body part you were asking about. Natasha had bought a short dark green dress, put it on about a half an hour ago, and then disappeared into the bathroom to do her makeup. She hadn't been out since, which sucked, as Clint wanted to brush his teeth. Apparently, putting her make up on demanded privacy, so he was left to think about how uncomfortable his tux was.

They'd spent the day coming up with a cover, and going over it so they knew their aliases as well as they knew themselves. If anyone were to ask, they were a Mr Adam Markovic and Miss Nina Kaminski. They'd been together roughly a year. He was a business man who liked to write poetry in his spare time, and she was a professional dancer. Natasha had died her hair brown just in case some guy from the café noticed her, and Clint had been brushing up on his Russian.

When she was finally ready, they set off towards the address. Inside was a mix of people, whom the majority of which were business men and their wives. Anton Salkov was nowhere to be seen, but they'd gotten there early.

Most male eyes in the room were on Natasha, making Clint feel rather smug. All these people were jealous of him, boosting his ego a little. She seemed oblivious to all the attention.

Clint hated undercover work. _Apparently, _carrying a bow and arrow around with you blew your cover, so he had to settle for a gun concealed in his tux. He had fairly good aim with a gun, but it just didn't feel right in his hand, and he felt naked without his bow.

The two of them made their way straight to the bar. Avoiding conversation was crucial; no one would have to talk to them for long to realise they didn't belong there. They didn't even know whose party this was. _Just walk around like you own the place,_ Natasha had told him countless times, as if he didn't do that already.

Before long, however, another couple was making their way over. Natasha tried to drive him away, but it was too late.

"Hi. Robert Yakovlev. Nice to meet you." The man said, before ordering his and his wife's drinks. "And this is my wife, Nadya."

He shook Clint's hand vigorously. "Adam Markovic. And this is Nina Kaminski." Clint introduced them, putting his arm around Natasha's waist for the special effects.

"You two are together?"

"Yeah." Natasha said, her voice changing weirdly as she leaned into his shoulder. "You're married?"

They'd discussed this strategy; if anyone did talk to them, avert the conversation to something different. Relationships, holidays, the weather, anything that didn't involve the purpose of the party.

"Yes, five years next weekend, in fact." The woman smiled happily.

"Wow, congratulations." Clint said, wishing he had something better to say.

"How long have you two been together?" Asked the woman.

"About a year." Clint said, his answer well-rehearsed. His hand on her waist pulled her closer to him and he gave her his best adoring smile.

She smiled back, then rested her chin on his shoulder, so she could whisper in his ear. "Barton, I'm a professional, but if your hand moves any lower I may just rip your face off."

"Yep, got it." He said under his breath, removing his hand altogether.

The couple smiled, obviously under the impression they'd just shared some inside joke. "Oh, Nadya, there's Victor. You'll have to excuse us." The man said, spotting someone at the other end of the room.

"Barton, there he is, look." Natasha nodded towards a corner of the room. Anton Salkov was stood amidst a group of men, shrouded by thick cigar smoke. Clint fought the impulse to shoot him on the spot; his aim was good enough, but shooting Salkov whilst he was surrounded what looked like his business partners wasn't the best idea.

Giving him a bit of time to settle into the party and let his guard down, they sat at the bar for another hour or so, making small talk with the barman and hoping no one would interrupt.

Salkov's phone began to ring. He help up a finger to the people around him and went outside to take a call. Seeing their chance, Natasha and Clint slipped away from the bar and followed him out of the door.

He was arguing on the phone with someone – well, he was shouting at them a lot. The street they were on was almost deserted, and it wasn't hard for them to sneak past and turn a corner so Salkov couldn't see them. Natasha looked expectantly at Clint, waiting for him to pull out his gun.

"Go on. I think you've earned it." He said.

"You mean I can do it?" She said, her eyes widening.

"Yeah, I don't see why not. I don't like these guns anyway."

She smiled widely. "Excellent." She turned round the corner a little bit, checking where Salkov was. Just as she reached down to take the gun in the thigh holster hidden by her dress, she heard a voice.

"Yelena?"

"Excuse me?"

Clint looked between Natasha and a man that had just appeared out of nowhere.

"Yelena?" He asked. She looked completely blank, and in an attempt to jog her memory, he said "Alexander. I bought you coffee."

"…Right. Yeah. Sorry, hi." She said unenthusiastically.

"You didn't come this morning." He said.

"Uh, no." She seemed to gather herself together. "Sorry, family emergency."

"Oh, of course. What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I'm here with my… cousin." She improvised, looking towards Clint. The man nodded at him.

"Nice to meet you. Maybe I'll see you inside?" He suggested.

"Sure." She smiled. He turned his back on them. Peeking round the corner, she saw that Salkov had gone inside. "Fuck, that's our cover blown. We're going to have to start again."

"He's a little old for you, don't you think, Nat?" Clint smirked.

She rolled her eyes. Dragging him further away from the party, she tried to get her bearings to lead them back to the hotel. "Shut the fuck up."

"And by a little, I mean centuries." He said as she led him down the street.

"Barton, shut the fuck up. Seriously. I still have my gun."

He simply laughed, trailing behind her as she headed back to the hotel.


	15. Day 15, Budapest

Natasha sat on the couch, listening to Clint report back to Fury.

"Yes, sir." He said. "Yes, we found him, yeah. Yeah, we almost got him, but then Tasha's dad showed up-"

She scowled. "Come on, he wasn't _that _old."

"Yeah, he looked like he was at the younger end of a hundred." Clint retorted. "No, sir, no, I'm focused. But we've got it under control. Yes, sir. Yes, understood. Okay. Over." He looked up at Natasha. "He really hates you, you know."

"Yep, I guessed that much. How you expect him to give me a job, I don't know, but…"

"He doesn't have to like you to give you a job. You know, sometimes I don't think he likes me very much." He added thoughtfully.

"Wow, I can't imagine why." She said drily.

"You'll be fine. Just cut down on the sarcasm." He said.

"I still get to use it on you, right, Barton?"

"You wouldn't you if you didn't, Romanoff."


	16. Day 16, Budapest

Clint was waiting on the corner of the street, waiting for Natasha. After waiting at the café for a while they'd seen Salkov meet with a client, whom they proceeded to ambush into a dark alleyway. Deciding that Natasha was probably best at persuasion and torture, he'd left to stand guard on the corner. They needed Salkov's address, because Fury wanted a clean death with no witnesses. Unfortunately, the guy was more cautious about people following him then they were, so he'd slipped away any time they'd tried to tail him. Clint leant against the wall, drumming his fingers on it, listening to the occasional shouts of pain coming from down the alley.

"All done." Natasha said, stepping onto the street, smiling.

"Did you just leave him in the alley?" Clint asked.

"Yeah. He won't be moving for a few hours." Natasha told him looking satisfied.

"You're creepy sometimes." He told her, looking at her grin. "But Fury said he wants this to be a clean job, Nat."

"Oh, he won't be saying anything to anyone anytime soon." She said sinisterly.

"What did you do to him?"

"I can't give away all my secrets." She said defensively.

"Sure you can. Go on, how does the Black Widow get information out of people?" he asked.

"Would you like a demonstration?"

"So, you can't give away all your secrets, I get it." He said hastily. "But we know where he lives now?"

"Yep, but he's not going to be there tonight, so it's back to the hotel." She said disappointedly.

"Another day of doing nothing?" he asked.

"We could watch some movies again." She suggested.

"Yeah. We didn't watch The Godfather, we could start with that."

She smirked. "You can pick Finding Nemo again if you want, I won't tell anybody."

He scoffed. "I don't- I- who am I kidding, we should get Toy Story as well."


	17. Day 17, Budapest

"This is disgusting." Natasha stated, tiptoeing around dirty clothes strewn across the floor of Anton Salkov's bedroom. "You'd think, seeing that he's so rich, he'd be able to afford a maid."

"I think there's something living under this pile." Clint said, prodding it with one of his arrows.

"The rest of the house is like this too." She said. "I think he just picks up food and throws it on the floor."

Clint and Natasha went into the living room. They both perched on either arm of an armchair, as the actual seat was covered in smashed up potato chips. They had to sit in the dark, because they wanted Salkov to come in without suspecting anything.

Sat in the dark, Natasha let her mind wander to the question that had been nagging at the back of her mind for some time. _Why did he save her?_ Clint's mission had been to kill her, and he'd almost managed to do it – had he not decided to offer her a new life. But why? Surely, S.H.I.E.L.D didn't offer the chance to reform to every criminal. Fury's attitude towards her proved that. Still, Clint had decided to disobey orders, (something she would never have done), get himself into trouble, (something she had never done), and help her. The only conclusion Natasha could form was that he wanted something in return. What, she had no idea. There were things typical people would want in return, but none of them seemed to fit. Money? Clint knew she didn't own any. Sex? He seemed terrified of coming within a metre of her, she doubted it. The only other thing she could think of was her knowledge about the KGB, which was definitely limited, and he didn't even seem that interested in them.

"Clint?" She said.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"You just did."

"Oh, _haha_." She said drily. "Why didn't you kill me?"

"You mean when I first met you?"

"When else did you want to kill me?"

"You want a list?"

She scowled at him, but it was too dark to see. "Seriously."

"Seriously? It seemed like a waste." He told her.

"A waste of criminal life?" she asked.

"A waste of talent." He said.

"But weren't you bothered about what Fury would do?"

Clint considered this. "He's angry now, but he doesn't really mind agents taking risks as long as they turn out okay. And you're gonna turn out okay, right?"

His words were met with silence.

"Why d'you want to know? Not complaining, are you?" he asked.

"I'd like to know what I owe you."

"Owe me? You don't owe me anything." He said, completely nonplussed.

"Yeah, I do, you saved me! I've got to do something to repay you for that."

"Well, if I'm ever dying, if you could just not stand there and watch?"

"Seriously, why'd you do it?" She asked impatiently.

"I didn't do it thinking I was going to get something off you in return, Nat, I'm just a nice person. Plus, a lot of people at S.H.I.E.L.D come from bad backgrounds. They all got a second chance."

Natasha dropped it, and stared at the front door, waiting for Salkov to walk through it. She knew that no matter what Clint said, it wouldn't change anything in her mind. She owed him a debt.


	18. 1:07, Day 18, Budapest

Clint's fingers wrapped around his gun as he heard the lock clicking. Beside him, Natasha slid off the couch to stand up. She glanced at Clint, and he nodded. She raised her gun.

Anton Salkov entered the room, dropping his bag onto the floor and heading for the light switch. Before he could reach it, Natasha pulled the trigger and he fell unceremoniously to the ground. Silence hung in the air.

"Well, that was slightly anticlimactic." Clint said.

"So, do we take care of the body or does S.H.I.E.L.D deal of that kind of thing?" Natasha asked.

"I say we just leave him here, no one's going to find him in all this crap." Clint said, waving a hand at the mess on the floor.

There was a small gasp from the doorway. Clint looked up; a woman was stood there, looking terrified with her arms around two children who hadn't seemed to have noticed anything yet. Natasha's raised her gun again.

"Whoa, Nat, what're you doing?" Clint asked hastily.

"You said Fury wanted a clean job." She said impatiently, as the woman clutched her children in fear, not understanding a word of what they were saying.

"We'll let this one slide, okay?" He said, taking a step towards her in case he needed to try and get the gun off her.

"But that makes no sense." She said bemusedly. "The reason we didn't just do it at the café was so there'd be no witnesses. Now you want to just leave his family after they've seen us kill him? They know what we look like now!"

"You're not in the KGB anymore, Nat." Clint said desperately. So this was why Fury didn't want foreign assassins working for him. Apparently, they murdered children to make things easier.

"I know, but…"

"Natasha," He took a step closer to her and slowly prised the gun out of her hands. She stared at him confusedly.

The smaller of the two children began to cry, and the woman looked like she was about to join it.

"C'mon." Clint said, taking Natasha's hand and leading her out of the house, past the family as they hurried to the Anton Salkov's side. "We've got to check in with Fury, and then we've finished the mission."


	19. 2:59, Day 18, Budapest

It was still extremely early in the morning. Salkov had come home at about 1 am, so by the time Clint had found them a cheap little hotel to wait for Fury's call in, it was still only 3 am.

Natasha couldn't believe how fucking stupid she'd been. Clint was the only person in the world who would defend her when she got to S.H.I.E.L.D, the only person who believed she deserved a second chance. And she'd almost gone and shot a couple of kids in front of him. He hadn't looked her in the eye since they'd left the house. _Well done, you fucking idiot_, she thought to herself. Why couldn't she have just let him be in charge?

"Fury's calling." he mumbled, turning his back on her. He began to talk to Fury. "Yes, sir. We got him. His wife and kids saw though. Yes. Got it. Right. She did."

_She did what?_

"Thanks sir. That's great. Will do. Over." he turned to her, still not looking her in the eye. "We've got the coordinates for the pickup. We'll set off tomorrow."

"Right." she said. At least she was still invited.

"Do you want the bed or the couch?" he asked very formally.

Neither looked that appealing - the bed sheets were stained and the mattress was lumpy, and the couch was torn in places and slightly damp. "I don't mind." she said. "The couch, I suppose."

"Okay. Good night." he said stiffly, before going into the bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

**I'd just like to say, I'm sorry if there's anything up with this chapter or any others in the near future. My laptop's getting repaired, so I'm going to have to write chapters on my phone for a bit. Which sucks, because the spellcheck is awful and the screen is tiny and it's a nightmare working out how to upload it. So I'm just apologising in advance for any mistakes. Thanks for reading this, by the way. Please review and tell me what you think so far :). **


	20. Day 19, Budapest

Earlier that day, Natasha had found an excellent car for them to steal. Clint wasn't exactly an expert on cars, he'd never owned one. However, he had to appreciate the set of CDs he found in one of the compartments.

It was getting darker, and the rain pounded down on the windows as Clint drove. Fury had given them the coordinates for their pickup, which was why they'd had to get a decent car - it was a while away. Natasha had dropped off half an hour ago in the seat next to him. He felt like he should wake her up before her nightmares started and she began thrashing about and screaming, but he didn't really feel like talking to her right now.

Fury had told him. Coulson had told him. Hell, Natasha had told him a decent amount of times. She was an assassin. She had no feelings, no conscience. For some reason, he'd chosen to ignore them all, and she'd almost killed two kids for it.

He got that she'd been trained to do what was best for her and her mission, but how was he supposed to help reform a woman who could aim a gun at innocent people without a second thought?

Fury's call began to come in. "This is Director Fury. It's 22:37, February 19th. This recording marks the 19th day of Mission Black Death. Hawkeye, do you read me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you on your way to the coordinates?"

"Yes, sir."

"I suppose we'll have to pick you up as soon as you get there, now you're keeping Natalia."

"Natasha." Clint corrected him absentmindedly, still lost in his own thoughts.

"But I thought-"

"Natalia Romanova was just a cover. She picked Natasha Romanoff as her name." Clint informed him.

"Sorry. Where is she now?"

"Asleep." Grunted Clint.

"Well, when she wakes up, you two are going to have to sort out her passport information so we can make her one. And I was going to talk to her about what'll happen to her when she gets to S.H.I.E.L.D."

"You're letting her stay?"

"Well, I never thought you'd survive this long. And it sounds like she helped you a lot on this mission. So if you trust her, I'll give her a chance."

_Typical. _Just as Clint was starting to have doubts.

"Right." He sighed. "Well, I can tell her anything you want to say when she wakes up if you want."


	21. Day 20, Budapest

Natasha's eyes fluttered open – it was still raining, and the clock on the car said that it was 5 am. As she sat up straighter, Clint glanced over to her.

"No nightmares." He said.

"What?" She asked groggily.

"You didn't have any nightmares." He repeated. "That's not happened before."

"Yeah," she said. That was true; that was the first time in a long time that she'd slept without dreaming. "Yeah, I guess."

"That's good." He said unenthusiastically.

She nodded, and then they fell into silence again. It was like how they were when they first met, except she was wary of him now. "Clint-"

"Fury called." He said, cutting her off. "He said you can work for us if you want. But we need to sort out some passport information for you."

"Right." She said. "Clint."

"Yes?"

She opened her mouth, but then realised she didn't have a clue what she was going to say. The silence started again, for at least five minutes, until Clint burst out "They were kids, Nat!"

"Yeah, I know, thanks."

"Don't you see what's wrong with that?"

"No, I don't." She said defiantly. He rolled his eyes disbelievingly. "Look, you must've grown up with people telling you that, I dunno, killing people is bad." She said.

"Something like that, yeah."

"Well, I grew up with people telling me that it's just what you do! I've never been taught that it's wrong." She explained. "Like how you keep leaving your wet towels on the bathroom floor. I bet no one ever told you that was wrong, but to me, it's just awful."

"Yeah, murdering children, leaving wet towels on the floor. That's the same thing." He said sarcastically.

"See, you've got to teach me this stuff; I don't know how you do things in America!"

"It's not really a cultural thing, Nat. You can take it as a kind of universal rule that you don't kill children."

"Not where I grew up! We were made to do that, it was our job!" She said. His expression softened just a tiny bit. "Like I said, you've got to help me with this stuff."

He nodded slightly. "You want to sort out your passport information?"

She nodded excitedly. "So Natasha Romanoff is going to be my official name?"

"Well, now's your last chance to change your mind." He grinned.

"No, I like it." She decided.

He flipped open one of the compartments, looking for a pen. He handed it to her and said, "Okay, write down everything we decide. When's your birthday?"

"I dunno."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"Well, I worked for the KGB. They didn't exactly give us cake with candles to blow out." She said, rolling her eyes.

"You've never blown candles out on your cake?" He asked incredulously. She groaned. "But you said you were twenty?" he asked.

"Yeah, I stole my file once. But my birthday didn't seem that important. So, let's put… I dunno, March 10th."

"Okay, place of birth." He said. "Pick a state."

They had some fun making up a life for Natasha, and Clint introduced her to his favourite style of music. It sounded the same as every other type of music to her, but she nodded along enthusiastically to keep him quiet. They stopped to get food later that evening, and when they got back in the car, soaking wet from the rain, Natasha took over the driving so Clint could try and get some sleep.

"So what made Fury change his mind?" Natasha asked.

"Who knows what goes on in his head?" Clint said.

"Will I get to do missions or anything? Or will I be locked up until they can be sure I'm not going to murder them?"

"Fury said he'd get you a partner, just someone to keep watch on you until he can trust you. And you'll be doing missions, but the difficulty will depend on the level of the agent he partners you with-"  
"I thought you said that you'd be my partner?" She said.

"Yeah, I thought that'd be what he'd do. I guess not, though."

"You mean I'm going to have to talk to _more_ people than just you?" She asked disbelievingly.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I'll try and talk to him, though, if you want."

"Okay." She said. "Because if I have to be nice to you _and_ Fury, another person is really pushing it."

He laughed. After a while, he dropped off, so Natasha continued to drive on her own in silence.


	22. Day 21, Budapest

A car followed them round the corner. Clint had noticed it about five minutes ago, once it had followed him down an almost deserted road. Natasha was half asleep in the passenger's seat, refusing to admit she was tired. She was just _resting her eyes._ Of course.

He took a sharp turn onto another street. If it weren't for the heavy rain he might've been able to see the driver, but the downpour made everything blurry. Swerving to make the turn in time, the car continued to follow them.

The road they were now on was pretty busy. Hoping to lose the car in the traffic, he drummed his fingers on the wheel anxiously.

"Natasha." He said quietly.

She moaned a little and turned her head the other way.

"Nat, wake up." He said a little louder.

"I'm not 'sleep." She groaned defiantly.

"Yeah, right. I think someone's following us." He said. At this, Natasha sat up a little straighter.

"What? Who? Where are they?" She demanded.

"Don't look; it's the car behind us."

"Turn around here." She ordered, yawning.

He drove away from the traffic onto a quieter street, where he made a U-turn and drove back onto the road they were just on, but on the other side. The other car mimicked him. "Yep, definitely following us." Clint confirmed.

"Okay, there's an opening right there." Natasha pointed at a gap in the oncoming traffic on the other side of the road.

"We can't do that."

"Sure we can, quick!" She commanded.

"No!"

"Oh, move over." She sighed exasperatedly. She began clambering over to the driver's seat, until she was near enough sat on his knee.

"Nat- Natasha- what the fuck-" He spluttered as he climbed out from underneath her into the passenger's seat. She took control of the wheel.

_Shit, I'm going to die today, _he thought, as Natasha turned into the gap of traffic. "Nat- Nat, you're on the wrong side of the road. Nat, those cars are coming right at us. Nat. Natasha. Oh, fuck."

Behind them, the car was still following them. Weaving in and out of the cars coming at them, she reached into her pocket.

"God, Natasha, at least keep your hand on the fucking wheel!" He begged.

"Take that," She said, handing him her gun, "Don't use your bow."

"Watch the motherfucking road!" He bellowed.

"Relax, would you?" She said, casually flicking the wheel a little and leaning back in her seat.

"You're a bitch. You know that, right?" He spat, winding down the window to lean out and shoot at the car's front window. As some bullets came soaring towards his face, he ducked back into the car. "Just get us out of this." He pleaded.

"Why, scared?" She grinned, letting go of the wheel and only steering away from the sidewalk just in time.

"Stop fucking with me, Nat." he said through gritted teeth.

She laughed evilly and if she hadn't been driving him away from almost certain death then he would have told her just how much he hated her right now.

Soon enough, Natasha had driven them away from the busy road and down some empty ones. Once the car following them was out of sight, they got out of the car and hastily started walking around in random directions, leaving the car behind.


	23. Day 22, Budapest

"But isn't that a kids game?" Natasha asked, as she and Clint continued their trek to the coordinates Fury had given them.

"Coulson plays it with me." Clint said sulkily.

"But still, _isn't it a kids game_?"

"Fine, we can just keep walking in silence." Clint sighed dramatically. "With nothing to distract us from the cold that's slowly freezing off our special parts."

"Stop whining, it's not _that_ cold." She said, rolling her eyes.

"It's fucking freezing, Natasha. It's cold enough that I can't feel my fingers, which is too cold. You're just used to it."

"Aw, I'm sorry, do you want my coat?" She said sarcastically.

"Yeah, I do actually." He said sincerely. She raised her eyebrows. "Please play."

"Fine." She cringed. "I spy… No, I can't do it." She said.

"You don't have to do the rhyme." He said pointedly.

"Okay, z."

He looked around. After a while he said "I have no idea, I give up."

"Zipper."

"Zipper?"

"Yeah, the one on your pants has been undone for the past two hours." She informed him.

"You're a bitch." He said.

She began to laugh. "I know." She said smugly.

"Seriously, I hate you."

"I know."

"You're going to rot in hell."

"I know."


	24. Day 23, Budapest

"Nat, can we _please_ stop at a hotel?" Clint begged. They'd been walking for almost two days now, and Clint's eyes had been closed half the way.

"No. We can find a hotel when we're there." Natasha said resolutely.

"We're going to get there on time, and even if we don't, S.H.I.E.L.D will still hire you." He sighed. He knew what she was doing. She'd explained it to him an hour before, when they'd had this same argument. She wanted to get to the coordinates before anything could get in the way. She made this whole speech about how it all seemed to good and that something was definitely going to go wrong and some other stuff he wasn't really listening to because he was trying to see if he could train himself to sleepwalk on demand.

"We're almost there." She insisted.

"No, we're not! Please, Natasha, I'm tired."

"Clint."

"I mean, we've been walking for two days! I know you have no weaknesses and whatever, but I do, Nat, I'm human, I need to sleep!" He moaned.

"Clint, shut up."

"No, I-"

"Clint, shut the fuck up, now!" She whispered urgently. "A woman just came round the corner. I recognise her; I used to work with her. Shit, there's another one. There are more of them. Clint, they've found us."

"Relax, this is a crowded street. We'll figure something out." He said, still half asleep.

"You don't understand; they won't care if it's crowded, they wouldn't care if we were in a freaking preschool! Come on, we've got to get somewhere quieter, there's innocent people here."

"Aw, I really have had an influence on you, haven't I?" He smiled sleepily.

"For god's sake." She rolled her eyes and started pushing him into an alleyway. "We're just going to have to deal with them here. Get your arrow out."

"Not now, baby, I'm tired." He mumbled, his eyes closing as he leant against the wall.

Slapping him across the face, she said, "Wake up, now!"

"Ughhh." He grumbled, unzipping their bag to retrieve his bow.

"Clint, be careful. You know, maybe if you're this tired you should just hide and let me try and deal with this."

"You must have a really low opinion of me." He said, handing her a gun.

"Right, whatever. Come on." She said, checking it was loaded.

"Ready?" He asked, nocking his arrow.

"Ready."

They waited for a second; before Clint said "Wouldn't it have looked so cool if they'd have found us just then as we said- Oh, never mind."

Three people turned into the alley, each pulling guns out. At first, he and Natasha just had to dodge the bullets, but soon enough they got their own shots in. Natasha called over to him to cover her, as she moved in closer to do her thigh grip roll type move that Clint thought was really cool, and then slam the guy's head into the concrete floor. Clint aimed an arrow at a woman that pointed her gun at Natasha, and there was a dull thud as he found his mark.

Clint looked up and groaned – the third man had Natasha pinned up against the wall, a knife to her neck and was saying something to her in Russian that he couldn't hear. Clint readied himself to take a shot, but the man looked back at him threateningly and pressed the knife against Natasha's neck, not with enough pressure to cut her but enough that Clint got the message. Sneering, he began to talk to her again. She eyed him with disgust, then looked over at Clint, who was still trying to work out what to do.

"Clint, remember our deal." She said, pretty calmly for someone who seemed about to die.

"What?" He said, completely nonplussed, his bow hanging uselessly at his side. The man looked between them; Clint suspected he didn't speak English.

"They've got back up; more of them are on the way. You said if they got me…"

"Oh." He said, only half listening, still trying to work out an escape plan.

"They don't want you, so if you hurry up…" she added, getting a little impatient as the man dragged he knife under her chin.

"Nat, I need you to be really quick when I do what I'm about to do." He said. She nodded confusedly.

Clint stepped back pulled back the string of his bow. Before the man realised what had happened, Clint had taken a shot at the hand holding the knife that was now falling to the ground. Natasha kneed him and he doubled over, giving Clint time to shoot him in the back.

"C'mon," Clint said, grabbing her hand and pulling her down the alleyway to the street on the other side.

"Clint, more of them are coming."

"I don't care, come on, if we're quick they won't know which way we went."

She hesitated.

"Natasha, they're not going to follow us all the way to America. It's just a little further. We can make it, okay?" He said, tugging on her hand a little. She nodded, and they hurried down the street, trying to lose themselves in the busy streets.

**Disclaimer: I haven't done this in a while, so just to confirm, I don't own Marvel or any of its characters. (Shocker.)**

**I just want to say thanks again to anyone who's read this story, and a big thanks to anyone who's favourited or followed or reviewed. Please do review; I really like to hear what you think about the story. **


	25. Day 24, Budapest

After they'd hopefully lost anyone still following them, Natasha had refused to stop anywhere until they reached the coordinates. However, Clint seemed like he was about to collapse from exhaustion, and she was kind of tired herself. Once she'd decided they were close enough, he'd immediately dragged her to the nearest hotel, hurried to the room they paid for and collapsed on the bed. She sat at on it next to him and tried to talk to him.

"If you need to sleep, I'll keep watch. I still think there's someone following us." She said, punching his arm lightly to wake him up.

"Yeah."

"We'll have to get going soon tomorrow. I don't want to be late for S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Mmm."

"What time are they picking us up again?" She asked.

"Uh huh."

"Ugh." She rolled her eyes, and left him to sleep. Wanting to keep watch, she remained sat up on the bed, but she'd been walking for a while, and soon she began to drop off.

* * *

"Natasha?"

"Wh- What time is it?" she said, sitting up straighter.

"Around eleven thirty. Okay, so, I have no problem if you wanna share the bed instead of taking the couch, but if you pull the duvet away from me one more time I'm going to kick you out."

"What? How long have I been asleep for?" she demanded.

"Dunno." He mumbled, rolling over and burying his face in the pillow.

Her eyes began to open properly and she knew she wouldn't get any more sleep that night. She began to crack her knuckles until Clint moaned, his voice muffled in the pillow, "Nat, stop!"

"That annoys you?"

"Yes!" he grunted.

"Okay." She smiled, continuing to crack her knuckles closer to his ear.

"I hate you."

"So I believe." She smirked.

"Get some sleep."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you watching me, it's creepy."

"Tough shit."

"Ugh."

**This was a really quick, short chapter, and the whole thing was dedicated to using these line things.**

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**Did you know how easy it is to do these things? I've spent so long reading fanfiction wondering how to do these lines, thinking it was like, secret knowledge that only the fanfiction elders knew. But look how easy it is!**

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**I mean, now I can separate parts of a chapter with more than just a big space! I can switch between perspectives, I can show a passing of time, basically this has made me really happy. You can expect to see a lot more of these babies in the future because**

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**look**

* * *

**how**

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**freaking**

* * *

**awesome**

* * *

**they**

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**are!**

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**Thanks for reading, please review because it's great hearing from anyone reading this, I'll stop now. Okay.**

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**Bye.**

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**.**


	26. Day 25, Budapest

Clint woke up cold. Sitting up, he realised Natasha had once again stolen the duvet. She was lying on the bed with one leg and one arm hanging off, as if she was waiting to jump out at any attackers. Deciding she could probably benefit from some extra sleep, he left to the bathroom to have a shower. A tired Natasha would be an angry Natasha, and that was not a good mix with Nick Fury.

Hopefully, this was the last hotel they'd have to stop in before S.H.I.E.L.D picked them up. They had another day's walk to go and they'd be at the coordinates. As much as he enjoyed being constantly chased by the KGB, he really wanted to get back and have a simple, quick job that he could do without too much thinking. Assuming, of course, Fury didn't ship him off to a warzone as punishment for going against orders.

Once he got back in the room, Natasha was still asleep. He would happily have left her whilst he got some breakfast, but she would probably slit his throat if she didn't get an early start. Tentatively, he stepped closer to her and tapped her on the right shoulder. He had learnt a couple of days ago that when she was woken up, she jumped up to the left and started stabbing at the air, so he made sure to stay on the other side.

After she'd decided he came in peace, she said groggily, "Time to go?" He nodded, and she headed to the bathroom to have a shower.

They had breakfast in the hotel, and then started to check out. Just as they were leaving the hotel, they bumped into a woman handing out free pots of something or other on a tray. She offered them one; it was something in a different language that he'd never heard of. He took one without hesitation.

"Don't eat that! You have no idea what it is." Natasha chastised as they left the hotel.

"Sure I do, it's a freebie." He smiled, looking at it closely.

"Have you never been poisoned?" She asked disdainfully. "'Cause once you have, you learn to not eat stuff strangers give you."

"I actually have. Coulson gave me something with shellfish in, which it turned out I'm allergic to. I was in the med bay and I couldn't breathe properly-" He faltered under the exasperated look she gave him. "Okay, I've never been officially poisoned. So I'm gonna eat the freebie."

"Fine, don't blame me when you're dead." She said casually.

"I'll try to let it go." He said, and they began to walk to the coordinates for the last time.


	27. Day 26, Budapest

_She_ _had_ _told_ _him_.

Did he listen? Of course not. Natasha started to realise about half a mile ago what'd happened, and it'd been hard to get him this far.

The woman handing out free stuff at the hotel had obviously been undercover, because Clint had eaten the thing she gave him and right now he was high as a kite. Which was not ideal, because the KGB had caught up with them and they were currently under fire.

"Boom, boom, boom! Bang, shpooooow!" Clint was shouting, firing an imaginary gun at nothing in particular. For the fiftieth time, Natasha grabbed his arm and dragged him behind the car they were taking cover behind. _She had told him not to eat the damn thing._

"Stay. Still." She hissed, forcing him to sit down.

He crossed his arms and sat grumpily. Peering through the car windows, she tried to ascertain where the shooters were. She came to the conclusion that they were just about everywhere.

"Fury! Hellooooooo!" Clint started to say behind her.

"Fury's there? Give me-"

She yanked the earpiece off his head, and he gave a loud "Hey!" in protest.

"Fury? I mean, sir? Or-" she stuttered, pulling Clint back behind the car, just as a bullet went soaring past his head.

"Where's Hawkeye?" Fury demanded. "Is he drunk _again_?"

"Sir, I think he's been drugged." She said. "We're a street away from the coordinates you gave us, and we're under fire."

"You think you can get him there?"

She looked at him doubtfully. "I can try."

"Okay. We're going to get some back up to you as soon as possible. Get as close as you can. Over."

Natasha found Clint's bow for him and handed him his quiver. "Think you can shoot straight for me?" She asked, with the air of one talking to a three year old.

"Meh." He said, balancing one of the arrows on his finger.

"Well, that's gonna have to do." She decided, resisting the urge to roll her eyes and hit him on the head. Clint had said they needed to get to a field where something called a quinjet would be landing to pick them up. "You're shooting in that direction." She instructed, hoping something would get through to him.

Natasha herself loaded her two handguns. Trying to get Clint to follow her, she began shooting in the general direction of the bullets being fired at them. She backed them down the street, never turning her back and praying they were going in the right direction. They were going down a deserted street that had the odd car they could take cover behind. Further down the street, Natasha could see what Clint called the quinjet landing on a large patch of grass she guessed was the field.

Dragging Clint a little further, they managed to make it down the street dodging the bullets. Clint seemed oblivious to the fact that he wasn't actually letting go of any of the arrows, just pulling them backwards and forth.

Figures dressed in S.H.I.E.L.D uniforms were jumping out of the quinjet and running in their direction. She and Clint were stood side by side, firing at anything that moved. They were almost there… If she just got them to the quinjet, she'd have escaped the KGB, they'd have failed to kill her and she could start again.

But that wasn't how things went for her.

All the wind was knocked from her as a burning pain pierced through her abdomen. She stumbled back and she barely registered Clint saying "Whoopsie, I'll get you a Band-Aid."

She knew she couldn't let herself fall; she had to keep moving and shooting. In complete agony, she started to raise her arm to keep firing, but the edges of her vision had started to black out and she couldn't aim properly. This was a time she'd really have appreciated a partner who had a clue what was going on.

She felt her knees begin to shake before they gave way, and she remained conscious just long enough to feel a pair of arms touching her on either side, but without the power to hit them away, she just let the world fade out completely.

**A/N: So, this is what I like to think happened in Budapest. Thank you to the guest reviewer who I can't thank in person, and to all the people who review every chapter. Please, please, please review, whether it's about something you like, don't like, or even just to say hi. Seriously, I want to hear from anyone reading this story. **


	28. Day 27, Budapest

Clint woke up in a hospital bed, still in his uniform. It was stained in blood. Was that his? He doubted it – if he'd been injured, he'd be hooked up to a load of machines and there would be nurses fussing over him.

What had happened? He was in the S.H.I.E.L.D medical bay, and the curtains were pulled around his bed. He had no idea how he'd gotten there.

Where was Natasha? Pulling the curtains back, he peered around the room looking for her, visions flashing across his mind of Natasha attacking nurses trying to treat her. Assuming, of course, she was here; he really couldn't remember anything that had happened.

Spotting Phil Coulson in the corner, he made his way past all the hospital beds towards him. "Hey, Coulson!"

"Clint, you're awake!"

"Yeah, what the hell happened?" He asked.

"We don't know exactly. When you came in, there was a drug in your system – you were pretty high, Natalia almost didn't manage to get you back. Luckily, we got there just as she was shot."

"She was shot? You could have lead with that!" Clint said irately. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine. She's not woken up yet, but the doctors said that's normal."

"Where is she?"

"In one of those beds, down there." Coulson said, pointing and leading the way. "Do you remember anything?"

"Nope. How long have I been here?" Clint asked.

"Just since yesterday. Here she is."

Clint looked at Natasha lay on the bed, and resisted the urge to laugh. "They changed her into a hospital gown. Who did that? They're not going to be alive much longer."

"They had to do a few surgeries on her, but she's going to recover quite quickly." Coulson informed him. "Fury wants to debrief you when you're ready."

"Thanks, I'll wait here for a little while." Clint said, thinking it was best she woke up to him instead of a bunch of strangers. He made himself comfortable on the empty bed next to her.

Coulson looked at her warily, before sitting on the end of the bed Clint had sat on. "So, is it true you could have killed her? Fury wouldn't tell me."

"Yep. She's pretty good, but nothing I can't handle." Clint boasted confidently. "Don't tell her I said that though, she'll kill me." He added hastily.

Coulson laughed. "Right. And she really hasn't tried to murder you or anything?"

"Not really." Clint smiled.

Coulson looked uneasily between them. "Well, you sure know how to pick your friends. I'm going to go let Fury know you're awake." He stood up to leave, nodding at Clint before he walked away.

Lying back, Clint glanced at Natasha. Despite that they'd fucked up the mission on so many different occasions, he'd actually enjoyed working with her. He'd been a bit unsure about how capable of change she really was, but by the sound of it, he'd be dead right now if it wasn't for her. He'd go as far as to say he actually enjoyed her company, or maybe he'd just gotten used to her after a month of her constant presence. He definitely wasn't scared of her anymore. Maybe, when he was assigned to his next mission, he could ask Fury for a partner, because having one didn't turn out to be as bad as Clint always thought it would be.


	29. Day 28, Budapest

"Hey, you're up." a voice said.

Natasha's eyes opened wider. She could hear people talking and she didn't recognise where she was. Immediately, her hand jerked towards her hip where her gun should be holstered, only to find it wasn't there. Looking around, she deduced she was in a hospital. There were tubes going into her body. People in uniform were everywhere, and she didn't recognise any of them. She couldn't remember anything – not that she tried, she just followed her first instincts that told her to get the hell out of there.

Ripping the tubes out of her body, she tried to stand up. Her hands automatically clenched into fists, and she tried to get into a fighting stance ready to find her way out. Before she could, however, her legs began to give way, she felt lightheaded and the room started to spin. She caught a quick and blurred image of a blond man in front of her, and she suspected it was his arms around her as she blacked out.

When her eyelids fluttered open, she once again reached for her missing gun. Something seized her hand. She adjusted her eyes, and looked around. She was in a hospital, strange people in uniforms everywhere. There were tubes going into her body. Her first instincts told her to rip them out and to get out of the place, but there were hands on her wrists holding her down. After struggling for a moment, she looked to her side and identified the hands as Clint's.

"Hello again." He said.

"Where the hell am I, Clint?" she demanded.

"You're in the S.H.I.E.L.D medical bay. You were shot as you were trying us back to the quinjet. You're fine now; you're just recovering from some surgeries, so you can't pull these out." He told her forcefully, nodding towards the tubes.

"How long have I been here?"

"Nearly two days."

"And… We escaped? We're out of Budapest?" she asked tentatively.

"We did. We're on the S.H.I.E.L.D helicarrier." Clint had told her something about a helicarrier, but her head hurt too much to try and remember it. "We're on our way to a base that's on the ground."

"Where is it?" she asked, hoping it was far away from Russia.

"I don't know."

"How long is it going to take?"

"I don't know."

"Do we have any information on what the KGB did when we escaped?"

"I don't know."

"Haven't you asked?" she said exasperatedly, angry at the lack of information.

"No, I've been here waiting for you to wake up." he said bemusedly.

"What good did that do anyone?" She said, annoyed.

"I can't win with you. You'd have killed yourself trying to stand up if I hadn't have been here." He said sulkily.

She rolled her eyes. "Can I sit up?"

He reached for the little remote that controlled the bed.

"Clint, wrong button!"

"I know." He laughed. "I'm sorry." He spotted a man that entered the med bay. "Hey, Coulson!" He shouted. The man looked vaguely irritated for a second before walking over. "Nat, this is Coulson. I told you about him, right?"

Natasha didn't bother to answer; she was too busy sizing the guy up. He looked rather like Clint when she'd first met him. Terrified, but too proud to show it. He gave her a curt little nod which she didn't return.

"He's going to be your handler too, so he's your boss as well." Clint said in a light tone. Natasha continued to watch Coulson until Clint said, "Don't worry, she'll warm up to you." She turned to glare at Clint. Coulson looked at him like he was mad for trying to joke with her.

They began to talk about people Natasha didn't know, and it didn't seem like very significant information, so she turned her gaze on a group of nurses just a few beds away from them. They kept shooting fervent glances at her, and they were arguing over something. It didn't take her long to realise they were arguing over who had to treat her. Finally, one of them seemed to give in, put on a bright smile and walked over to her.

"Good morning." She said in a falsely cheery voice. "Feeling okay?"

Natasha stared at her coldly. She didn't like people that could make their voices that high. Clint looked between them before intervening. "She's feeling fine, thanks."

The nurse didn't plan on giving up, though. "Okay, well Tasha – do you prefer Tasha or Natasha?" Natasha gave her a look that quite plainly said _neither,_ and the nurse looked helplessly to Clint.

"She… Just – How's she doing?" He said.

"Her sats are a little high, but she should be out of here soon." The nurse said, only addressing Clint now.

"Great, thanks." He said. The nurse walked away. "Nat, what the hell was that?"

"What?" She hissed.

"If you're going to stay here you're going to have to interact with other people!"

"And I will, when it's necessary." She said.

"You could at least be polite, Nat. I'm not saying you have to be best friends with everyone."

"Clearly I'm intruding." Coulson said pointedly. He turned to Natasha uncomfortably. "Director Fury would like to see you both for debriefing as soon as possible… or, you know, whenever you're feeling up to it…" He trailed off, turned on his heel and left the med bay.

"I don't like it here, Clint." She moaned. "There are so many people. And I don't like being on a hospital bed in a hospital gown while everyone stands over me."

"I know. But no one likes the med bay, Tasha. When you're out of here, I'll find you an empty training room where you can beat some stuff up for a while. Deal?"

"Deal."


	30. Day 29, Budapest

Clint was with Natasha in the medical bay, waiting to take her to the debriefing with Fury. The nurses were doing some last minute check-ups very nervously. Clint had already had to help her get changed into her new S.H.I.E.L.D uniform because she refused to leave her bed in a hospital gown and she flinched anytime the nurses came near her. Not that he was complaining, of course. Once the nurses had declared her fit to leave, they hurried away as fast as they could. He tried to help her up.

"Clint, I don't need your help. I can stand up by myself." She snapped.

"I know you can." He said drily as she tried to push herself up and almost fell onto the floor. "But just let me help, for my sake."

She clutched her side in pain as she sat back down again. "Well, if you really need to." She said through gritted teeth.

Leaning on him heavily, she let him lead her to Nick Fury's office. Fury watched her carefully as they entered and Clint helped her sit down. Once she was settled, she stared right back at him. Clint knew they were both trying to work out everything they could about the other. Clint knew both of them pretty well, so he coughed to break the silence.

"So, you're improving." Fury said. Natasha nodded. "Well, as Barton's probably told you, we've decided to give you a place at S.H.I.E.L.D. Some basic training is compulsory for our agents, but you'll have no problem with it. As soon as you've done that, you can begin working with us."

"Okay." She said.

"If you ever need anything, Agent Coulson will be your handler."

"Right." She said.

"Now, if you don't mind, I need reports on what you've been done. It was Agent Barton's mission, but as you know, he wasn't fully aware the whole time."

"Sure."

They began their debriefing, Clint sitting back and letting Natasha do the work. Usually, he hated having to sit in Fury's office and analyse everything he'd done, but Natasha seemed to be great at it, which meant he could leave it all to her.

"…And then he ate it." Natasha said, giving Clint an annoyed glance.

"Of course he did." Fury said exasperatedly.

"Here we go." Clint sighed.

"I did tell you." Natasha said.

"Whatever."

"What happened after that?" Fury said loudly, as Natasha opened her mouth to retort.

"After about an hour or so he started to go all weird, and I practically had to drag him to the coordinates, then a bunch of agents came and started firing, which is when you called, and I took Clint's earpiece and talked to you."

"And that's when backup came." Fury finished.

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, well if that's all, then I guess we're done here. This is the end of Mission Black Death. You're both dismissed."

**A/N: So, that's the end of Budapest. I would have done a more dramatic ending, but I think I'm going to carry this fanfiction on, so it didn't seem necessary. Thanks to anyone who's read/favourite/reviewed this story, and please do review and tell me what you think ****.**


	31. February 1st, 10:03

Idiots.

They were everywhere.

Natasha could vaguely remember her first 'training' session. She'd been lined up with the other girls; they stood in silence and waited to be told what to do. Right now, she was in a corner watching a bunch of immature men and women that were all giggling and fucking around. _This must be what high school's like, _she thought, as they all seemed to have the appropriate mental age for school. Hopefully, the training would knock it out of them, but she didn't get her hopes too high as some of them started to whistle as Agent Hill entered the room.

Natasha had met Agent Hill once, and decided she liked her. Hill had walked in the room, put Barton in his place, delivered a message to Fury and left. Fury had been giving Natasha a load of information and S.H.I.E.L.D stuff. They'd given her a room type thing to stay in (she strongly suspected it was a decorated holding cell. Which didn't really bother her; it was more or less what she'd expected.) They'd given her more S.H.I.E.L.D clothing, and an ID card with the most basic clearance level that existed. Soon after, they realised she'd come from Russia completely empty-handed and needed to be supplied with the basics, like a toothbrush and underwear. They also gave her some money (in case of emergencies) and a mobile phone (on which she had a grand total of one contact).

Hill arrived talking to a guy Natasha guessed was their instructor. He glanced over to Natasha's corner – Hill must've come down there to warn him. Natasha only hoped they didn't draw attention to the fact that she was there; she was quite comfortable in her corner.

They were in a large gym; all the equipment had been pushed to the side and exercise mats pulled to the middle. The agents were all huddled together just in front of Natasha's corner, waiting for the instructor to start. She watched everyone in the group, assessing their strengths and picking out their weaknesses.

The instructor called for the group to get into a circle, and then picked out two people to get on the mats and show off their defensive skills.

They were absolutely pathetic. Surely, this was her punishment for everything she'd ever done. It was so demeaning to have to sit there and align herself with these idiots. She half expected Clint to jump out with a video camera at any moment.

Finally, the inevitable came around. The instructor, who had barked at everyone else, said in his friendliest voice, "Natasha, fancy showing them how it's done?"

_No, I really don't,_ she thought. She glared at the instructor, but he stood his ground. Whispers erupted around the room as the group turned to face her. Obviously, they had all heard the rumour that the Black Widow had been taken in to S.H.I.E.L.D. A few of the ones closer to her took a step back. Wearing the most disdainful look she could do, she began to walk forwards onto the mat to her terrified opponent.

**A/N: Okay guys, I have a question for you. What is the photo you see on this fanfic? Do you see one at all? Because for my first ever fanfic, I put some picture of a book in a heart shape, and now it seems to appear on all of my fics. Can you see that? **

**Disclaimer: I haven't done this in a while, so just to clarify, I don't own Marvel or any of its characters (big surprise, right?**


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